My stomach's through the windshield,
Imbedded in a tree.
Your heart's been dragging behind us,
Going south.
Where we're together in the country,
Counting dreams,
Look like rivers we used to follow, heart in hand.
Hand in pocket.
My pocket joined to yours just to feel
Steady breathing,
See your words contrast the grass,
White fog.
In the cities counting deaths on fingers,
As cigarette butts,
On footpaths we'd never walk given the choice,
We'd fly today.
How I'd want to lay with this dream.
Grass in windows,
Bodies of green wrapping around our organs,
Pulling us back into the ground.
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