Acer Sacharrum

Footprints of tourists painting the sand,

The cries of the ocean berating the land.

Chappell Roan and milestones,

Informing the world we aren’t fighting alone.

Ten teenagers talking til the old year gives way,

The screen in my window’s still down —

no wonder it’s so cold up here.

You’d think I’d know better, a house this old, this time of year.

And here I thought I shivered for the stress,

It’s getting hard to tell apart

My head from hell,

My melting heart:

A puddle on my driveway,

A stain upon my shirt.

Please just run away —

I don’t want you getting hurt.

I’ve never been religious much —

My Faith is in the trees.

The sort of Lord I worship flies among the Bumblebees.

And my idea of Heaven is buried ‘neath Her leaves —

I didn’t get out of bed this morning for twenty minutes

Lying in the dark in hopeful ignorance

Then I see my mother in the hall and I’m six years old again —

She has bad news —

I think I live upon a bridge

I’m too afraid to cross.

I’ve set up camp for the time being

(Now so much time’s been lost.)

The water’s too far down to drink

And the fish are out of reach.