For the OWLS

The lie wouldn’t last. They never do.
Somehow they're overpowered by time.
We’re always scrounging for a truth
No matter how scrawny or windblown.

I wish a red dress were true.
I wish your lips were true.
I wish I was already there.
I wish goodwill were true.
I wish all the smiles were true
and don’t you know they are?
Even when they’re hiding
in a mouth full of lies.

The granule of truth endures somehow;
in the blood flowing under the blood,
in the smallest intentions of each heart.

The minds clenched, the hearts clenched, the eyes clenched,
they are being opened
like empty hands
not to beg
but to be filled,
not by work
but by the sun,
by other hands.

We are finding our way again
in the dark creases
of each other’s hands.