I came to you, and you to me.
And then we lost our old lovers’ revolution but it started again.
Now we’re one.
One of the parade wake widows walking home into the setting sun.
One of the soldiers lost in the dreams that never lose the gun.
One of the wise men wandering the podium without a tongue.
One of the trophies tarnished by the mess we made of being young.
One of the prayers one of the promises swallowed without chewing gum.
One of the deaf ears dumber all the time for all the years of drums.
One of the wide-eyed soap boxes buried under Washington.
One of the beat cops combing every sidewalk crack for love.
One of the crowded stars uncounted when the map was done.
One of the withered in the garden left to wonder when the rain will come.
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