Make me an item
that causes a landslide.

Make me music
to clutch in my eyelid.

If dreaming is to strengthen us,
we must not deny

the fears of our hearts,
and how they control us.

Here, on the riverside,
we imagine beddings to lay ourselves down;

make me a skeleton,
that when broken, puts itself back together.

The graves that we set,
the heavens that allude us,

I can not forget
that once, I never dreamed nor thought.

Make me an altar,
that I can find no fault with,

and mayhap, I’ll believe
in perfection. Though still, I’ll believe it cruel.

Make me hear color,
and bury me with one holy thing.