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| painting by Dane Lovett |
Our heads are heavy
and borne again on stock film,
watered-down visions.
Our hands reach northward,
a place we've never been to
but would love to see.
Our eyes hang loosely,
downcast and weather-beaten
on our dad's front porch.
Our legs hold no weight
but the burdens we give them
daily, like sad gifts.
Our hearts ask questions,
looking for the wrong answers
for a test we'll pass.
The house leans southward,
a tendency toward life
and beauty in it.
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Playing on my iTunes at this very moment:
Deer Tick, Smith Hill
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