For the sake of the story, I will tell you what really happened. You, two young stars in a single orbit, blossomed over the foggy window in your rising, and I, a fat dull moon, was eclipsed.

The stone, alone, fears gentle rains,
For over time, they wore her.
Inside, she knows, as stones must do,
She's made of all who came before her.

This little poem mumbled
To me in our sleep, the
Little things the morning
Leaves: flowers
Of the strangest kind a
Cloudy sky might find beneath,
Above my head as I walk
Upon whatever the night
Rain swept through the
Streets. Reminds me with
My eyes half opened busted
Seams, spilling still such
Pillowy things, of the
Prayer I washed down
The bathroom sink, oh,
And the eyelash I think you
Dropped in my dreams.

The sea was cold and my blood was hot;
O storm of all that I am not,
Carry my cry to meet the king,
Turn my heart a salty thing --
          Before he finds me sinking.
The moon was old and the night was new;
The stones were soft, and I dreamt of you.
Lord of blood and love and bread,
Lord of all I never said --
          And you will find me sleeping.
The fire was sweet and cooled my blisters;
The dust was discreet and spoke in whispers.
Quiet eyes to strike with wonder;
Blessed birds do crow in thunder --
          And I have found myself weeping.

It's not my place
To weigh the truth
In all the things you said.
I merely know the feeling of
Your footprints in my riverbed.

Wind from the north and the sky aches with gray
But whether wisdom comes with age is not for me to say

The air as still as forests, the sky as my soul is blue
Somewhere is a river where the berries grow for you

Midway into summer and the night is coming on
A windy, wet non seuqitur I meet a moment long

Trees bow low, the pious souls, their anxious branches beckoning
The desperate would sell me for a covenant with lightning

The night awakes in light the day can only dream about
No worlds have ever heard the roars of such a broken drought