the cyan air is kind again
our tongues much softer now
there is no wicked prophecy
left here to disavow

in this cruel place we knelt and wept
as autumn bore her teeth
but still it’s here where love has slept  
that roots have birthed beneath

she knew not the seeds that she had sewn
would stretch to taste the light
and in that wretched grime had grown
a fruit so pure and bright

and oh, how kind the stars have been
for here and now we stand
with all the saplings and the sins
together, hand in hand

what’s blossomed here is ours to tend,
a harvest all our own
this, i know, is the sweetest end
that i have have ever known