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And on that grassy shoreline there,
Far from all who thought they'd dare,
Far from those who'd ask,
    "What do you see?"
  "What is truth?"
While we'd grimace and patter
    On
     and
      on
       and
        on 'til the coriander
        pokes it's tender head
        through the underbrush.

                             But what of poppies there,
                             Or asphodel in a vase,
                             Placed high on the mantle
                             Planted high with seeds of disgust
                             In a hollow vase, a hallowed place.

But bulrush brings us shallow comfort,
With words strewn out in ribbons, red,
Far from those who'd think to ask,
    "So black, these hollow stars,
     Why wouldn't they shine for you?"
While love lies bleeding, arm in arm,
White-knuckling moments, passing there. 

Strewn out on fields like paper kites
With long hair, dark and wet with rain,
Silent, you and I standing there,
Listening for the sound of rain.