It was THE song that reminded me
that I was equal to a stem of wheat...

Wood searches for light—
whether in the sky...

They're dry and dead
these fake flowers...

Between my heart
and heart of the oceans...

They do not give us ruler
to draw the perfect lines...

For the nurses they are old lesions
but for the patients...

I still carry his body across the barbwire of this...
carry this cross...

Always within you,
is watching you...

With you I'm begun,
no more a phantom...

When you were lost in darkness
I saw your light...

Your unsheathed thorns and
my laceration are why...

In the rainbow boxes of preference,
they each are...