This Thread Is a Green Street

Something about these pink weeping trees

brushing my shoulder blades right before rain

is a doorway.

Do you know, where did it go,

the other land in the heart?

I draw a map, that I can start to get there.

I try to find a side doorway to these things.

Daily there have been kind people.

And back to them shine these beams of longing.

Do you know, where did it go,

the other land in the heart?

I draw a map that I can start to get there.

This thread that will mend your sleeve again

is a green street I walk, between clouds,

saying out loud that I miss you,

that I miss you.

Sometimes this is a green street I walk down.

And leaves crown me a friend,

and I walk down.