• I want to blow you a glass umbrella
    So that when it rains you can look up
    Without water swimming in your eyes
    And see what the sky’s tear duct looks like,

    For the first time.

    I want to paint you a perfect edge
    To a storm cloud coming in over the sun.
    I want to darken it with my diction
    Beside words that illuminate light itself.

    Then you’d open my transparent phrase
    And ride your bike with one hand,
    While gazing contrary to your motion
    As I know, I always do.

    I wonder, is it different for you?

    I think I’ll forge you a rusty garbage can
    Using jumbles of nonsensical words
    That you don’t know
    And neither did I, at the time.

    The little green plant in the gutter beside it peers out
    Of the sea of grey and dirt that it uses to survive.
    I think I’ll spread my decaying reason a little thicker,
    To help it grow.

    Watch your hand now! You've stopped your bike!
    Stop shielding your sprout from the rain that you hide from.
    You have a lot to learn from this small life,
    So pay attention. You’re two sides of the same you know.

    You can’t close my glass umbrella. It would shatter,
    But the bits become sand again one day.
    So choose for yourself what you want to view now.
    I’ll leave you two alone beside a bike and a gutter.