When the sun lifts, I think about tomorrow
and the earth bringing foreign land,
making rosemary and lavender
that grows from three month rain.
I think about fortified doors bursting open
and thrones shining for the people,
their hope drifting like white clouds,
lifted towards heaven.
I think about the house we built together,
so we’ll live through the distant future,
through periods of war and downfall,
through alliances and burning friendships,
through nights that would last forever,
because we didn’t want them to end,
the nights of us drinking cherry coke
and watching made-up fantasies.
When the sun lifts, I think about myself
and the world that won’t stop changing,
because it knows about tomorrow
and mornings that rise until the last.