the school yard picnic tables had a lost and found.
sewn together was a book of miscellaneous cities
where fools were growing together and
churches were picking themselves up.
they used anchors and rope to sew us together,
much like the systems they used for shipwrecks
and fallen warriors,
but we found glaciers to lead us back home.
we followed the shelves of mountains and
the roof of skies.
written in the wooden planks were tales of
men dying from broken hearts, but so what?
we let our hearts murmur and bleed bold acts of
brilliant gestures.
we were two fools growing together.
we forgot the cities in our pockets,
hoping that concealing could
accommodate how we really felt.
heart murmurs could skip some beats,
but we want each moment to end up
on our feet.
we just hoped that the glacier roads
will take us where we need to go.
the arrows were colored coffee grounds,
we were almost belligerent from the
flask full of body language,
and my wooden teeth were chattering
from the touch of falling atmosphere.
emergent empires, frozen to our road
had heavy hearts pumping through,
trying to reach to us.
it had my attention, and it spoke
through capillaries leading to our toes.
we left with train wrecked eyes
and faith leaning on our sleeves,
because we realized that you never have really
lived because you have never really died.
so let our hearts murmur bold intentions and
we will follow the glaciers home.