Open up your ruined house. Fear not for God. The poem is my pocket. The fiber fragment, folded tight: tucked into a secret, always moving. Behind the seam, this inner lining, I smuggle hope beyond debris. My fingers pinch the promise firm. I press tomorrow: shelter in your palm. We read aloud, breathe into rubble. We read aloud, Our ruin now a temple.
Published as lyrics for GODHEADSCOPE’s Patience EP, 2011. Spurred by Czesław Miłosz’s essay “Ruins and Poetry.”