In the mountains, by the Alleghany River,
we hang out in a bare white room,
listening to chirpy pop music,
talking about God a mile a minute.
Your hair is pink again, and you
wear that ragged army jacket
your dad wore when he was in,
torn jeans, worn down Chuck Taylors.
God, something more, escape,
all the scattered broken glass thoughts
tossed out onto the floor helter-skelter,
making pretty colors for a moment.
I smoke another ciggie, try and keep up
and add my own colors and shards,
though I should just let you talk,
have the floor, and just follow you down.
We go outside this tired and weighed
down house that slumps it’s shoulders
and sighs with the excess of the wet winter
and misty morning, never ending rain.
You put you head on my shoulder.
Impulsively, I kiss your bright hair.
I think you smile. You don’t pull away.
You take my hand in yours.
The river down below, you say,
is like us in time, just flowing on,
until the end, death, the sea,
where we are all together in heaven.
We are quiet then, and still, and the
come down is sweet and warm
in our sleepless eyes and thrumming hearts.
I want to travel with you, down to the sea.
faithlesspaladin 