I do not cross the wind.
I don’t.
Instead I stay inside, cleaning clocks, being
Timeless without even a notion of time
and there, I play alone with rhyme
and write of the things that you love and I don’t
I could write beautifully for you but I won’t
because I do not cross the wind.
I do not cross the wind.
I don’t.
Instead I try not to infringe on your ties
to God or your friends or whomever you pay
at the end of the day when they’ve burned everything
except for the things that you love and I don’t
I could burn a candle to you but I won’t
because I do not cross the wind.
I do not cross the wind.
I don’t.
Instead I sit alone like a motherless child
and when the rain comes down it brings sighing
and when the wind picks up it brings crying
it's painful, of course, since I can't comprehend
the reason why I'll always keep making amends
when you tread me ‘cause I do not cross the wind.
even though there are things that I just want to say.
I planted flowers on your grave yesterday
you know the only thing I ever wanted you to say
was, “I do not cross the wind.”
