sleeping on park benches
can be a liberating experience
because I feel like a shaman prophet
when I find the words
that spell your name.

you’ll always find me
dancing this dance
and waiting for your rain
to leave me sopping wet
with everything I love
about you.

I know my words
just echo back at me
bouncing off of iron doors.
the best I can hope for
spills into oceans
of yesterday
lost and drowning
in my darkest depths.

and yet…
I find myself crossing broken fingers
and praying
to cardboard fathers
for the sound of your smile
(my heart singing).

it won’t be long now.
I can almost see the daylight
feeding the pigeons again.

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