come, rest beside me
take off your boots, dusty from the road
let your hands uncurl from their fists,
press them against the warmth of this rock,
until they can be open again.

take off your socks,
clinging with fear to your feet.
the new grass is waiting for you,
and it is always just cool enough.

if you like,
there are flowers for your wrists and head,
stems thick enough to string together into crowns,
garlands, even, if you're being ambitious.

as the sun goes down,
the stone is still warm to the touch,
the first lesson of happiness I ever learned:
run to the things that keep on burning,
with the fire that warms and comforts.

we wear the leather jackets of our name, our age,
stained with the smoke of our reforging,
on the threshold of possibility,
see the children at the cross-roads.

see us pressed against the last stone of memory,
see us feeling for the last hint of sun,
hear the lyrics, the quotes, the poems,
that someone carves into the rock with a knife.

children with their flower garlands,
tasting sourness on their tongues,
twisting their mouths around shoots of grass
twisting their mouths around each-other.

the yellow blooms are like **** candy,
like one of those old photographs:
jackets hanging on the trees.

arrogant boys and sarcastic girls,
red lipstick staining the backs of our hands,
grass staining our knees.

the cross-road stone anchors us
as we stare into the sunset,
pressing close to each-other,
as the waiting period begins to end.