Some days her shape in the doorway
Will speak to me
A birdÔÇÖs wing on the window
Sometimes IÔÇÖll hear when sheÔÇÖs sleeping
Her fever dream
A language on her face
"I want your flowers like babies want GodÔÇÖs love
Or maybe as sure as tomorrow will come"
Some days, like rain on the doorstep
SheÔÇÖll cover me
With grace in all she offers
Sometimes I'd like just to ask her
What honest words
She canÔÇÖt afford to say, like
"I want your flowers like babies want GodÔÇÖs love
Or maybe as sure as tomorrow will come"
