Like never reading the love letters I wrote you

Words scattered all around

Like never seeing how

I let the blazing suns of a thousand remote

Solar systems blink your name

Like ignoring the food on your plate

The clothes neatly folded and pressed

The hands that kept you there

Breathing in, breathing out, wanton flowers

The messages painted on the billboard of the world

Child come home,

Rain come down

I’ll never stop looking

Across this field for you