He Builds The Ark Again

Sometimes when the blue sun burns low

And the streets are dimly lit like slow

Purple fists, I sneak in late with his hurt hands in tow.

And while the blood drips like rusting wine

We dance and play like children, speaking of all the times

The red moon failed us. We let our fingers lonely, bind.

He has a slow voice. A hawaii in the winter warm.

As he raises his head to tell a lie, I whisper that the eclipse is just a firestorm

That never reaches earth. We nod and let this sit like bone

Like words and stolen candle light.

But we never raise our hollow chests to fight.

And he says with every muscle tight,

Describe the way I call you back to sleep.

Put in words and let it hurt like this lack of thief,

But make us have a future. And pull the pedal slow of relief,

For I am the gun,

And I make everything carry forward and on.

And you are a ship pulling me to the front lines of a shore.

The only difference being,

You break the waves. And make them stronger than before.