you said, and my heart flew
down flights of stairs to
a steady surge.
The night we sat in the studio,
singing about days gone by and
dragonflies and cloudy skies
draped with lightning.
You said you missed me,
but I was right there
with you,
pinched into a corner,
back bone aligned with
the wall seams.
And it seemed the walls closed
in on us
just enough to bring you closer.
The window to your left,
feathered with dust,
was cracked in six places.
"Should put it out of its misery,"
you sighed,
but I grabbed your hand and
tugged you back
to show you the window for
more than nicked glass.
I ran our fingers over the fissures;
pointed at fallen leaves,
the magenta and tangerine clouds,
resembling ocean waves and
ballet dancers.
Our misconstrued view
through shards of tainted glass
unearthed our world
and painted a mosaic.
I wanted you to believe in so
much more than what lies
before us.
And you said you wanted to believe too.
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