There are words written in the sky this morning.
I'm not sure who they're from,
but they change the way that
I see
the sky,
and the ground, for that matter.
There are words in the sky
and on the tombstone.
Maybe they're his words,
maybe they're his mothers.
I don't know who they're from,
but they've change the way
that I see him,
and the way that I see
us.
The words aren't devoured
by the tree,
nor do they hide behind it.
They're combining,
harmoniously,
somehow.
The words on his tombstone
and in the sky
and the tree
and the ground
have changed the way
that I see it all.
They've changed the way that
I see.