Glider Plane
If you see her, tell her it doesn't snow in Colorado
Tell her all that stuff falling from the sky is just sawdust
From the stilts I've been carving for my short temper
Tell her there's a tambourine in my chest and yes
She still shakes me.
Too bad love is an Etch-a-sketch
Good thing love is an etch-a-sketch.
If you see her tell her I've been running towards my life
Like Laura Ingels running down that hill in her flower dress
I wore a flower dress to my birthday boy party
Don't look at me like that
I'm not the box the gift came in
This heart is my sunday best
Grass stained from the day I discovered her neck tasted like the reed of my first saxophone
If I could still play
I'd play the softest song
A moth in a lamp light
A snow globe turning upside down
Michelle Obama buttoning her husband's bulletproof vest
We are all fragile
And fraying praying we can hold the tire swing through the summer
My mood swings with its feet dangling in the river
So when my sadness reaches the ocean it turns to salt
If you see her
Tell her the moon is all her fault
Love, a trap door of light even when its gone
Its somewhere
Tonight, I buried her time capsule in the ball field
For every time running for home meant running towards her
Next time I will know to listen when the umpire tells me I'm safe
Next time I will know it's normal to have a hard time breathing when you shake the dust
We make everything so complicated
Sometimes the message in the bottle is "Don't drink so much"
There's too much Novocain in our wisdom teeth already
Every window begs to be open when the storm comes
I dig sea holes in my pillow
And dream of clock towers whistling at the lightning
This upside down umbrella is a tea cup for God
The puddles in my eyes are monuments of grief crumbling beneath moths
You can spend your whole life wearing a life vest in the desert
It took me so long to burn those fire escapes
But I know neither of us are just the felony on our record players
I know the music we were trying to make
I know everyone of us is just a mac truck with a soft bed inside
I've got my thumb out on the highway and I know she doesn't drive this way
If you see her
Tell her I made a song from the dial tone
I made a paper-mache glider plane from our unfinished poem
Take the elevator to the parking garage rooftop
Take a cigar box of feather pens and write what you see
The bassinet of my mouth unfurling it's ribbons to raise my voice
Honest, honestly she was an anthem
I was a stadium full of patriots with their hands on their hearts
Honestly my hand is still on my heart as the fire works announce the end of the game
And the colours in the sky chase the birds inside
Have you seen the nests they are building from everything we've left behind?