when you sing,
you want it to bloom out of the garden
in your bones and out of your heart,
and you want it to be like
you were thirteen again and you had blooming
sunshine in your face

you scaled trees, climbed rocks
skinned your knees
wild and as brazen as the first kiss you
stole from some girl
spattered freckles on her face
you counted with your lips
(you got to 14)

erected a monument
out of your garden but it was bare
your bones,
dried husks

who can pull you out of that water?
i can't...
neither can she...