Perhaps the rain has washed away all sins
And flowers will bloom to cover the scars
But its hard to give a dam
To focus
To create…who will be my salvation?
They took a blood sample this morning
And I thought,
Why do I still get to bleed while my son
Is ashes in the wet garden?
His garden
Where everything seems to bloom and grow
Tall and strong
I tell the weeds to move along
And the rain, hopefully dumping buckets of my salvation into the ground
Where I can soak it up like a hungry Iris
And learn to live without his smile.
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