Before the gate has been closed,
before the last question is posed,
before I am transposed.
Before the weeds fill the gardens,
before there are no pardons,
before the concrete hardens.
Before all the flute-holes are covered,
before things are locked in then cupboard,
before the rules are discovered.
Before the conclusion is planned,
before God closes his hand,
before we have nowhere to stand.

She was far away
In some distant land
In her head
One only she had the
Endurance to navigate
I am an artist of geography.
She would tell me
On the days
She was deeper in
The jungle of her mind
Than she usually was

But I wanted to save her
So I sent out
A search team
To find someone
Who was not really lost
Either way nobody
Could find
This girl.

One day
Years later
There was a knock
On my door
I still have not
Reached the pacific,
I am trying
To find the limits
Of this land
In my head
But I have yet
To find the coast.
I am trying
To make a map
Of my mind
And when I do
I will paint you a copy.

But you are limitless
I wanted to tell her
no map could encompass
the capacity of sheer beauty
that your mind is
But instead
I watched
And I let
Her walk back
Into the jungle