It's here, her fragile tears built
The shallow lake that lays
In the cob webs of my front lawn.
It was the black sun's lust
that stripped our waiting pool dry;
Our salts formed this tainted beach.
This land laid the design for agony,
As we spit shards of glass,
It was the elephants who bore the brunt.
Now the purple urchins parade
Wearing November's ivory hats;
While their spectators watch on edge.
The lies have been stacked, and,
As the fires rage our beautiful ashtray
Grew higher than the home we gave it.
I shoveled it out time and time again,
But what left the window found the door.
But I built us this sand castle
from seaglass aged in Jack's throat.
The seasons come and pass,
But I never left that porch rocking chair.
The sage has become what is, and I,
As the beach still falls from your eyes.
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