They will marvel at your fingertips
Which drum gold onto paper like auroras on a dead sky.
You will become the nomenclature of their heartbreak
And the lexicon of their frauds,
The vernacular with which they will purchase peace,
The passwords to their sleep.
You will smile to see your pain
Wear gorgeous dresses and kiss strangers
In places, they learnt to hide with time.
There will be moonlight on broken concrete
But their eyes will not chase meteors
Their eyes will not be hope soaked in shadows
Because they were busy touching the fissures in your soul
Where your heart became full and fell from its nine-fold height
But forgot to shatter
Forgot to evaporate into memories.
It sang on abandoned harmonicas in alleys you thought collapsed
And if not for the haunting of a breaking, not-broken, heart
You couldn't have stolen the silver in its dirges
Couldn't burn it into stars that dot this sky
Even as gold explodes into the black waters
And stops the world into looking upward.