The Source

Bring me back to my old house.
Take me back inside the source.
Feed me fire.
Drink my warmth.
Build my tower from every chore.

I broke the mirror.
I paved the avalanche.
I set in motion the cracks
beneath the surface of our past.

So pour my bath with glitter and ice.
Watch me vanish
to the undertow’s delight.

I know you are still sore,
rubbing lotion on your rash.
I’m sorry the daisies I picked for you
were grown beside poison oak
in my backyard briar patch.

written on 09/26/2009 by: Matt Kane