This unfinished painting of a drawn out summer
still finely coated in a sheet of dust.
We paint our days with history
still floating on top of our mysteries.

Together or apart I'm falling over
to understand the time we've had.
With knowing and understanding apart
I write, I know not where to start.
So let the letters fall their own way.
I'll live to note another day.

The wall in my mind won't torture me
but if you won't listen I will not be.