The things you tried to bury
Won't sleep like you want them to.
It's an exhausting way to live,
Trees still grow when your eyes are closed
It's the hardest thing.
At night
A conversation between strangers plays out softly.
Her voice over his,
Over yours over mine
Words like tiny fists dig themselves up
It starts and it takes a little longer to fall asleep
The trees still grow in the garden
No comments:
Post a Comment