Do you really think the stone you tossed was the first one?
And do you really think that this is my first spring filled to the brim with carnage?

Would it help to ask again, put on a smile and say yes?

Did you find what you were looking for at the place of rot and regrowth?
Did you remember that we are bound to carry everything we lose along the way?

To whom did you build your altar of lemon tree branches and satellite debris?
And are you sacrificing a scarred heart of gentleness at the late hour ceremony?

Would it help to ask again, put on a smile and say yes?

Tell me, what are you holding in your burning hands, another punch of salt?
And did you hide your hundred knives between the lake and the moon?

What do you think lies by the end of the lane? Another thorny wilderness or a final hill to make?

Are you telling yourself it was a hand of intervention that struck us down on the patio?

Would it help to ask again?

What do you think the poet meant by showing the crickets to the crowd one last time?
And how do you plan to tell it like it is, with your newfound illusion that time stands still?

And now you want to know who I light my candles for?
And now you want to know why my silver cross is gone?

I could tell you but

Don’t expect a shelter for the inconsistent rain
Once it starts to fall
It will drench you to the bone