This I already knew – let’s seek our sense of justice somewhere other than the courts.
can i say this is from hands unseen
when at the end of my climb
i see everything i thought i’d lost
my reflection in the glittering sand
of morning dew a name to call
myself written in the glowing moss
upon a rock you know we’d make
a perfect painting, you and i, sitting
side by side eye to eye only
we couldn’t find paint the color of
these tears (i run them clear to make mist
vibrant with all your colors) and we’d
never find a red so dark as your blood
nor one that keeps running
from wounds with open doors.