The way to the river leads past the names of
Ash the sleeves the wreaths of hinges
Through the song of the bandage vendor

I lay your name by my voice
As I go

The way to the river leads past the late
Doors and the games of the children born looking backwards
They play that they are broken glass
The numbers wait in the halls and the clouds
Call
From windows
They play that they are old they. are putting the horizon
Into baskets they are escaping they are
Hiding

I step over the sleepers the fires the calendars
My voice turns to you

I go past the juggler's condemned building the hollow
Windows gallery
Of invisible presidents the same motion in them all
In a parked cab by the sealed wall the hats are playing
Sort of poker with somebody's

Old snapshots game I don't understand they lose
The rivers one
After the other I begin to know where I am
I am home

Be here the flies from the house of the mapmaker
Walk on our letters I can tell
And the days hang medals between us
I have lit our room with a glove of yours be
Here I turn
To your name and the hour remembers
Its one word
Now

Be here what can we
Do for the dead the footsteps full of money
I offer you what I have my
Poverty

To the city of wires I have brought home a handful
Of water I walk slowly
In front. of me they are building the empty
Ages I see them reflected not for long
Be here I am no longer ashamed of time it is too brief its hands
Have no names
I have passed it I know

         Oh Necessity you with the face you with
         All the faces

This is written on the back of everything

But we
Will read it together

I sleep with puzzled thoughts of you. I sleep with the lie that I will find my way back for good. A place no one has ever been. A place no being could ever reach.

Its a beautiful lie, to feed yourself with fragments of memories that has never happened. We try to run towards the point of misery, hoping it will keep our sanity.

We lock in the truth inside our cells where no one could reach it. Trying to make our tiny beating heart believe it never existed.

I hope for the day that dreams wont be the only place where we existed. That reality is better cause its existing.

Let me wish the drops of water a place to fall.
Let me wish the sun a night to crawl.
Let my veins seep in the warm clouds.
A floating melody that makes me drown.

One day, I'll feel it too. Its all too good to be **** true.
So, let me sleep and count all the notes, my string of thoughts, and endless hopes.

A beautiful bright heart to follow.
Let me remind you all this tomorrow.