To The Words Now Gone

We've been weaving colors all day
and when the birds left the ground
there was nothing more for us to say.
There's a face in the huddled crowd out there,
who draws in circles of soap on the pavement
and he smiles at the trees falling down on his head
and he smiles at the wind crushing his heart instead.
But there's a trap,
at the end of every road
the traveler with his splintering stick will never know
it leads back to his soul
back to his darkened soul
that lit up
only around you
and the words we never knew.
And then, that soap swirling genius
glides his hands through the clouds
he's dancing in the dripping rains of clarity
he's shadowboxing the vigilance
he's drowning in the patience
and he's a sliver of the madness
only God's could know....
And then we buried it in the ground
and those words we spoke,
they never came back around.