By Jonah Levy
That wasn’t me it was me
That wasn’t you it couldn’t be
Stubborn eyes that seem to be
Light sensitive when lights can’t see
We don’t drift like seas and knots
And no I love like I was taught
Practiced well barefoot with fire
Left in front and right to block
Cut some trees to form some path
Splintered hands to lay down lath
A gravel road that kicks up dust
And streets to pave with tolls to pass
It’s not a chore, just drying clay
An ovens short is wrong to say
Recycled trees to house this fleet
If change repeats I'll fight defeat