You captured the grace of stars,
storing their luminescence in the basement...

Here, I am the little prisoner,
hunched over a cherry wood table...

I tried, tried to shelter the silence,
but these voices feel they need to...

I'm tired,
physically, emotionally, and spiritually...

This won't be very long, I promise,
because words aren't substitutes for memories...

I knew nothing of Assisi but the blinking stars,
the same ones that my America dreamed upon...

Sharps and flats,
that's how your words...

The rabbit tangos with morning butterflies,
imitating the samba while 57 suns...

Anger doesn't always approach with
petty words that eventually...

I cannot run any faster,
my physique won't allow it...

It comes with shiny tops,
it shimmers, glimmers, simmers at...

I wonder if Earth grieves the
same way souls do...