1.
It is all holy. It is always raining. 
Grown on suspended culture—it is important to reduce.

Shot overhead, a million stars judge
our texts and emergency calls, and you from your seat

in the auditorium hoping for a familiar narration. 
Wax figures melt into a mold and encase a millennium.

There’s no replacing the honest present. 
Not even the past can be outshone in the darkest

Embellishments that are nothing when held to the side of your face.
I love you enough to trust the facts, to hold myself to an advantage.

I think I’ve gathered enough data to step into my future.
I cannot hold your shadow on my skin

Or hold you like a stone, hold you the way
this room is hollow and the dark blue sky taps into bone.

2.
I show you my family tree
And we found ourselves in Kentucky wanting more.

It is all holy. It is not mine to reduce.
Drinking Jim Beam and closing the shutters before dawn.

Before the storm could reach the sycamore tree and 
my father could dream of bioluminescence on the beach.

On the sand we drown. 
In the light we see.