Sill Ours

Where do you put
these wasted whispers
that could have been said
these broken promises
that were broke
you gave them

Where does all the time go
while you watch the hands
that seem to go on

These are the days
that no one seems
to remember
to forget

We are
the universal do-gooders
who forget that good
is subjective
and as such
to tax, tariff
and interpretation

Walk with me
hand in hand
under the stars
while they are still ours.