way out on county road 2

i push against invisible walls
that are heavy-laden with false hopes
the crops were few in the years of drought
that came when you fell into broken habits once again
i sat on the wet ground by a house of former glory
and wished that i would be willing to be torn down
to make room for the sweet clarity of fresh growth
the steps are more mold than solid wood
and the carpet is now made of dust and covered
with the sprinkling of the old ceiling giving up

out on county road two, there are
houses that are no longer homes and a girl
stretching her hand with freedom away from the ties of
fault lines of heartache that wanted to linger
i drove through a quiet town in Colorado but it looked like
Kansas and i almost felt lonely
if it wasn't for the way that the clouds twisted the light
into a strand of hope and the goodness of death
the path has been set and the hosanna has been cried
you can feel the churning when you place your
hand on the grave of what we surrendered
the brink of the third is set in my spirit
and the unwept hurt finally exhales into the
birth of healing

tomorrow we'll be sun-soaked, today i am hope-soaked

bump into rough billows of clouds,
tasting the powdered sugar from the heavens as if
winter was only a light dusting on top of my summer.
i sweep the kitchen with the door open,
and everything shivers from the bitter wind
but i am stuck, stuck, stuck -
in a daydream?
look closely. the cacti in our bathroom is dying from the cold,
and there is no space where the sun hits just right
for them to live.
he thumps his chest to clear a cough from his throat,
and the sound irritates my own lungs.
we are all eager, eager. maybe
if they use the right machine, they can suck the
hypocrisy from underneath my ribcage,
right near my spine, where it is caught on a truth
i was just trying to give to make things better.
brush my hair out of my face, but
my fingers get caught in the knots of conviction
trying not to stumble and morph into
condemnation.
every day, down monaco street parkway,
i gaze as long as i can at the branches of the trees,
trying to see the green budding underneath their
white coats.
this is a dream that keeps sprouting in my soul,
no matter what storms break against the shore.
sandcastles wash away, but i am founded upon a Rock,
and maybe that's why this hope
triumphs when it is strangled. i heard something, once, about
how death was defeated. i think, maybe, this is like that.

/x