Crumbled Stones and Hammocks of Sky

Photo by Joe Parks

I lie against the pillows
in the half-light
listening to bricks shifting
mortar crumbling
in our silent home
because you have flown
far away, briefcase in hand

Often the world grows dark
All I see are angry men
and despairing mothers,
fields of upside down flowers,
skies of shredded crimson,
a march to our graves
But you are there

You open the corners of the map
show me beauty in
where you have been
what you have seen
I drown in your eyes and
the warmth of your spirit
and k...