in the palm of my hand is the wind that blew through us alone in your room with a pen like Meriwether Lewis or Johann Sebastian Clarke on your knees with a flame in the dark you crawled after them ain’t you on that big white horse that almost threw us why can’t you ride past our door and pretend you never knew us and when you’re done do you think you could do us a good turn I’m talking to you you like to think you redrew us but you know you really only tried to undo us someday the deed will be done to mark through us but we’re done with you Copyright Hills Snyder, 2004 |