Somewhere
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A rugged man squats painting teardrop onto blades of grass
Behind him chases the sun, he barely escapes its light
“ I worry I must hurry for this night is running low.”
And the man paints faster
Nowhere
Traveling here from somewhere
Wanting to be something from somewhere
Knowing someone from somewhere
Where are you from?
I'm from somewhere
Somewhere, oh somewhere
A place where I can go
To have a stranger become a friend
Or a whisper become a voice.
I long for the day
When I can find a pair of hands
To help me with my work
The faces fade to ash
Photographs discolored to the sickly yellow
Of rotting buttercups and stagnant sunlight
Captured in dust-coated rooms
Disintegrating into something less than nothing
There are worlds beyond the tips of my fingers—
Ones that I can barely brush.
Built of thumbprints and slant faces and closed mouths,
Withholding what is never be spoken of.
