There's a white eagle waiting
on the creased parchment of personal
history, sitting patient yet clearly
discontent, singing someone's praises
but you're never quite sure exactly who
holding heads higher than you could ever
and cocking two, by two, by two
I almost dropped this string into the sea
the one that connects your fears to me
the pull to fall kept me so tight
but I leaned all the way back
bringing eyes to summer light
So where were these rocks that had you
so compelled, that you called me crying
out in shrieks, giving them names, a
car crash of consonants like a fence
to keep something in or out, we
weren't ever sure
How could there be so many questions
when there's only one way to enter
and only one way to leave