I worked quietly that day.
When you turn to face the sea,
you look into the face of vastness in its entirety,
and a place you simply can't reach.
And I feel everything so mightily.

I worked quietly that day.
When your thoughts drip and drop into
visions of your old friends, and what they were once like,
until your mood is flooded with memories and moments
that one day will be washed clean anyways.
And I feel everything so mightily.

I worked quietly that day.
When you're laying naked on top of my naked body
but there is what seems an entire ocean in between.
And the thoughts come rushing again,
what if he were you instead?
And I feel everything so mightily.

I worked quietly that day.
The day you realize that this is all real and now and happening,
and anymore and you could easily drown.
Today the clouds in your mind open up to reveal an open space,
and you are flooded with all of these things you can't control.

And I feel everything so mightily.

But I want to feel none of this entirely.

Dancing with detachment,
I watch the still planes below as I leave.
For just as I can't help the type of blood
that runs over my bones,
I have inherited my mothers cold feet.

Dancing with detachment,
As I wrap my arms around my grandmother
I feel her stiff shoulders shift,
see her skin as too big of bracelets around her wrists,
and wonder where her time went.

Dancing with detachment,
I'm standing in the front yard of my old house,
in the space where I accidentally grew up.
I go inside to climb the staircase that
spills into my parents empty bedroom.
And just as Win Butler once said,
I wonder what ever happened to them.

Here you lie
No different than the Earth's dirt
Barren rock walls reflect the open skies
Dance with me on the horizon lines

So alone am I
the criminal behind my closet door,
is starting to feel remorse.
I come up with crazy situations in my head,
of myself, in the presence of friends.
My screams have filled the cracks in this house,
to where most of my being lives inside the walls.
I am the woman behind the Yellow Wallpaper,
when I can hear my own voice
whispering down the hall.

I miss the sticky heat
between the prairies
pressing on my skin and my lungs.
Dust flutters in just the
sunny parts of your home.
The homesickness I feel
between all of my insides
when I think of my childhood,
when I want to be everywhere at once,
brings to life a solid part of a dream.
I hang white curtains
as to not shut out the sunlight completely.
At least I know, this time,
the dust has reached all parts of the old home.

I am not scared of monsters,
for the fear inside my head
would exceed the space below my bed.

You are the force in between
my moon and sea,
Pulling the blankets of the tides
to kiss my coastlines.