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The Receiver
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The Summit
Winded, their words were empty.
No follow up to break clean
Just bruise and endings.
We hungered right under our coats.
And it was there that blood rose
To spread and darken.
All days it churned and with every word
From the ground I begged for a summit.
All limbs were still and through every chill
In the cold I begged for a summer.
Failure taught us to temper.
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Their empty words were labored,
Were ours in mirrors.
So silent we make our move now.
All bitter taste we wash down
And reach for their hands.
On days it churns we keep all those words
On the ground and gaze at the summit.
Our climb is long and we know our faults.
With their eyes I look to the summit.
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