Slowly, slavishly, crackling, they break and leave
Rivulets of tears in their place.
There are peeps of yellow blooms through my eyelids.
Golden-orange sun on blowing rivers of green.
This, my heartache. This, my symphony of rest.
Heartache. Rest ache.
Heart rise. Hope rise.
Chest fall. Rest falls.
Let it be, as you called forth the blossoms,
Snowy on the mat of green and grey you built.
You built. So let it be
Eyes open all way, always
Upon the open field of
Lord, I call out and
cry out and
sigh out, to
let it be.