We Dropped Our Troubles Into The Lap

Before You Know Kindness As The Deepest Thing Inside, You Must Know Sorrow As The Other Deepest Thing.

Getting Over What You Did To Me Is Not Why I Get Out Of Bed Anymore.

For You Who Came So Far; For You Who Held Out, Wearing A Black Scarf To Signify Grief; For You Who Believe True Love Can Find You Amidst This Atlas Of Tears Linking One Town To Its Own Memory Of Mortar, When It Was Still A Dream To Be Built And People Moved There, Believing, And Someone With Sky And Birds In His Heart Said This Would Be A Good Place For A Park.

Later Our Dreams Begin Catching Fire Around The Edges, They Burn Like Paper, We Wake With Our Hands Full Of Ash.

Anyone Who Says, “here’s My Address, Write Me A Poem,” Deserves Something In Reply. So I’ll Tell You A Secret Instead: Poems Hide. In The Bottoms Of Our Shoes, They Are Sleeping. They Are The Shadows Drifting Across Our Ceilings The Moment Before We Wake Up. What We Have To Do Is Live In A Way That Lets Us Find Them.