Our history has a way of knotting inside
with its many wires and crossways
you cant tell the middles from the ends -
and it never lays neatly behind us

But finally away from the tracks that lead me astray
I loose grip of such manufactured skies
and come to a stop inside myself
at the center of your doorway

a white wash light comes over me
there is no image left to tend to
every harsh hue is swallowed
and I no longer feel broken

Abandoning fear and regret
what can be soaked up in a tear
finds it's descent and glides across
the mapping stretches with sheer grace

the bottom has fallen out in the sea of words
that helped delude the concentration of you
never have I been so sober that the body and the soul
handshake their own agreements

but It seems you own the only memory
behind the beat that pushes my blood
and I only know a true center of space
when wrapped up in your arms

So I cannot be wrong for loving you
I cannot close the door
that years haven't been able to decipher
or digress between us

If you ever get tired of just trying to exist
go back to where we met years ago as young kids
under the shade of winterwoods and cabela tents
that is one place I know where happiness lives

09/12/2005

Posted on 09/13/2005
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