Beyond my sleep state
This dizzy Landscape of mine,
This dream place of mind
Holds me, longing, the way
A lover or mother might do.
But every time the light interrupts like that because
Mornings are rude, and ask me to always be
Working and pilling away at the
Skin of my days, the cotton of my years
To take my hymn and lock my door
But my blood still flows quickly across patterns
Of this old world
In the sand and in the sun
Through doors and doors which are not doors
In this room
Inside my mother’s womb
A staircase is not a staircase
A room is not a room
I carried a hard heart, and she carried me
In case someone tries to take…
But I don’t seem to have the right things
To give, and whatever is mine
Sneaks out in the middle of the night
Through a tiny window, around a corner
Under your tree
Take flight little heartbeat
Under sweet midnight suns
Run swiftly, run free
Out of the skull of an angry man’s rule
We’ve tried this before, please don’t forget about that
Enough time spent burying old bones
Beneath the trunk of a
Great house and a slight wind
Native holding, hiding, waiting
Little womb/room for a staircase overhead
Waiting raining breathing praying
Close your eyes into mine
And tell me, what is it that you’re painting?
