No one told you to go home.
No one told you stand alone
projects end up drones
and made up slices out of cones,
squares come out and cover blown,
at some point, that point, all is owned,
and we get back to what is known.
Loving the air and the rose.
Loving the air and what is closed,
'cause every door is
what is honed
and seeing you, first times again
is knowing what is digging in
and the last thing that I need,
compiling experience, is a friend.
