When night picks itself up
dropping dying birds upon us,
and people order us to go
with our hands full of papers;
remember, we grow
at the pace of our own hearts,
and it’s laughter that spins us forward.
So spread me over the world first
take my fingers and fold them around
heads that need direction.
Press my lips to the hands of anyone
who has never been loved.
Turn my voice into strains of heat.
If there’s quiet near you too often,
you might be missing something good,
or have your back turned on someone.
You may be loving only half
of something and never know it.
Forget I was wrong when I was,
if I lied let it teach you something.
Push my eyes into the dusk.
Match me up with a hand-shaped clock.
Fly to the drum beats as if you have no body.
Swim, bodiless into the inclination of the moon,
hear the records in a darkened room.
Stand with the optimal balance of the Big Dipper.
If you hear a strange sound in the closet
let the darkness of it be me.>