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Poetry The rain remembers our dark faces
lit from our flames, our one day dreams
these secrets kept for yellow skin
but burnt, from our fire, our moon talk and pretty death
counting the air trapped in seconds
your floating child lungs surface in quick wind
leaving your truth snapped like weak wires
blending with calm autumn leaves
falling like rain at the last vein of hope
illuminating the sky from deep sleep black
but open with endless dimensions
dark in the corners of our minds
inside these doors bones grow with the smoke of winter
wearing our faults in faces of fools
the stars connect the lines of the maps in our eyes
so we start from above
