The shallow opening
Ran below the bank
Musky air and water
It's wasting stone away
Now I am kneeling here
Searching for my place
With a little inspiration
I thought of Jenny's grave

The falls of Jenny Wiley
They're running in my veins
My ancestors killed her babies
And took her as a slave
They ***** and murdered
And butchered all the same
The Indians of this area
And their tomahawk blades

But Jenny made a run for it
And she got away
After a year in captivity
She just couldn't stay
I like to think she knelt here
In this little cave
Just as I am now
Planning her escape

He had stepped into the leaky washroom
Ceramic tile: floor, walls, and ceiling
Water ran, flowing like a clear mountaintop spring in morning
Her body was **** and lying there
Lifeless and beautiful
He was gazing down at her
Finger twirling his dark ponytail hair
He said aloud "the water is cold, it's as cold as glacier water"
It was forever running over his scuffed up, black wingtip shoes
And down her freckled face, as he was standing straddle her head
Through her elegant red hair
Over her small pale *******
And then down each side of her figure
Hugging the outsides of her legs
Then hugging the outside of her ankles and feet
The glacier water freely flowed on  
It gave her body a complimentary glow
Reflecting the florescent light from the outside hall
He was standing there again pondering her death
Like many nights before this
He's standing there in the glacier water
Looking down at his beautiful wife
Remembering how cold the water was that December night
And how cold it has been ever since

we sweat the small stuff and get upset
ready to deflect what we don't expect
storms spread and we get so wet
bad weather that we'd rather forget

we preset our heads to reject
whatever we don't see as correct
we've all bled and shed tears of regret
it's our necks that we try to protect

when letting two hearts connect
reverence has the better effect
it's the common threads that we neglect
instead of accepting we choose to except

Under the glow of an imitation violet night
I sketched the nightmare of a violent smite
Her cigarette was burning in a pepsi can ash tray
What could've been night was actually day
We sat together on that old dust covered floor
Below a leaky windowsill and a broken door
What is it? she said to me
An ancient lagoon and willow trees
I was searching the paper for something to please
But I remembered the feeling of being empty
I pulled up the blanket and it became day
She wasn't there and I had made a mistake
Willow trees and an ancient lagoon
The place where I married her and buried her too