in peace, we were what some might envy-- in lust,
we were just what we could be. walking slowly
late at night, you might have never known.
i leave the dishes dirty, i let the dust
pile itself along the ridges. just once,
i cried. and then i left, against your grain,
and built my dream: a scene without a frame.
so days turn into weeks, and weeks to months.
so i exist just in my mind, and lose
my sense of self. the greater purpose found--
in silence, grace. i help, and sometimes guide,
my thoughts to safer ground; they leave, come loose,
and cry for greener grass. they search the ground
for rain, and dart like birds who wish to hide.