Open up your canyon lungs
and let me breathe like I am living.
I have forgotten what this tastes like.
The sky is awfully quiet,
like it has something to hide.
Dig up your bruised knuckles
from those sand-filled pockets.
We will rebuild the sun.
I sink my teeth into forgiveness
and it pours out my mouth.
Overripe;
I always wait too long.
Foolish, to keep important things
in drawers you never look in.
So I’ve dug up the front yard,
there were directions here somewhere.
Do not look at me like the stopwatches on our hearts
are the same.
Mine is counting up.
But forget that I left the front door unlocked,
this is a postcard from where I am visiting.
I hope it makes you hopeful too.
I’m sorry I don’t say things I don’t mean.
You are the ocean,
and I never know where to put my hands.