We were born social prodigies
and drifters with a heartache.
I was born one day in winter,
while you were painting our landscape,
and I bend into the wind,
and you twist until the breeze breaks,
and we’re standing at our weakest point.
Hold it there as it’s not quite in focus
with your fingers shaking steady.
The camera fights against light,
and you’re already rushing to get ready.
So we escape into the night and
we escape what we’ve been dreading.
Come to think of it, we never really did.
And we’re holding on to each other like candles in a mine.
But you can’t hear the canaries this far down.
Posted in her musings | 2 Comments »
