If the river rises we’ll build your mother a temple where she can make dolls that glow in the dark / whittle teeth from oak & fingers from Mahogany.
When the rains come again we’ll be halfway home & weep with the kids who run red in their own blood…for stallions left to rot in fouled stalls.
After the first snow I’ll uncoil a length of rope & hang the first man who comes to our house & opens his case & tries to sell the remnants of stars.
When you move to another city I’ll bury the dog, crawl under the house & dig for our first song & with a thin heart I’ll leave too…
stop on the canyons rim & let loose the doves.