standing with him in the backyard
watching the cutting trees
you all write about Michael
we talk only about those people
who take their dusty one wheeled cars
and drive them one handed
they all believe in a God of Rush
praying to keep them away from the traffic jams
I see you here at the same table
I put everybody else on the side
and I listen to your dream
now we can dance
somewhere in between
running showers and books