Our Heart Wanders Lost In The Dark

But Anything Worth Doing Is Worth Doing Badly. Like Being There By That Summer Ocean On The Other Side Of The Island While Love Was Fading Out Of Her, The Stars Burning So Extravagantly Those Nights That Anyone Could Tell You They Would Never Last.

We Exist With A Wind Whispering Inside And Our Moon Flexing. Amid The Ducts, Inside The Basilica Of Bones.

I Dream Of Lost Vocabularies That Might Express Some Of What We No Longer Can.

It Is Convenient For The Old Men To Blame Eve. To Insist We Are Damned Because A Country Girl Talked To The Snake One Afternoon Long Ago. Children Must Starve In Somalia For That, And Old Women Be Abandoned In Our Greatest Cities. It’s Why We Will Finally Be Thrown Into The Lakes Of Molten Lead. Because She Was Confused By Happiness That First Time Anyone Said She Was Beautiful. Nevertheless, She Must Be The Issue, So People Won’t Notice That Rocks And Galaxies, Mathematics And Rust Are Also Created In His Image.

Our Heart Wanders Lost In The Dark Woods. Our Dream Wrestles In The Castle Of Doubt. But There’s Music In Us. Hope Is Pushed Down But The Angel Flies Up Again Taking Us With Her.