He was the word before that word filled a single ear.
Before that seven-point Roman face on a
rice-paper page gave me hope, he was hope.
He was in the world, walking until his feet were
just as sore as mine.
And when he passed I was so busy
trying to avoid all the filthy outstretched hands
that I never saw him weep.

Look how the whole world has gone after him!
And if they keep quiet, the stones will cry his name!
They never saw the dirt left under his fingernails from their feet.
I never saw him standing there,
long after her fragrance faded from that shirt.
And as I fall asleep in his arms, I can’t feel my shallow love
piercing him again, and again, and again.

I was everything he wasn’t,
so he became everything I was.
Shallow love made deep,
and the space between us is
the length of my outstretched arm.
He overcame the world to make sure
I could find my way back
home.