even life is like a funeral practice:
half of us already dead
to our families before we die,
half of us still on our knees
trying to crawl
into the family photo.
(Orlando)

When this world, drunk
on hate, decides blood
is wine and drinks its fill
in the only place
they ever thought was safe?
In the only place they thought they didn't have to hide?

In the only place they were wanted
because of who they loved,
and how they loved
and how they loved,
until someone wal

even life is like a funeral practice:
half of us already dead
to our families before we die,
half of us still on our knees
trying to crawl
into the family photo.
(Orlando)

When this world, drunk
on hate, decides blood
is wine and drinks its fill
in the only place
they ever thought was safe?
In the only place they thought they didn't have to hide?

In the only place they were wanted
because of who they loved,
and how they loved
and how they loved,
until someone walked through their bodies
and asked who was still alive
and hardly anyone
put their hand up.
(Orlando)

Your name
is a gift

you can return
if it doesn't fit.
(Andrea/Andrew)

Come tender as the trees
forgiving the books
for asking to be made.
(Good Light)

what else
are all these coins and all these wells for
if not to wish the grief asleep
in the lap of someone else's grief,
till grief comes not knowing
if it will come again.
(The Day You Died Because You Wanted To)

When a human dies the soul moves through the universe trying to describe how a body trembles when it's lost, softens when it's safe, how a wound would heal given nothing but time. Do you understand? Nothing in space can imagine it. No comet, no nebula, no ray of light can fathom the landscape of awe, the heat of shame. The fingertips pulling the first gray hair and throwing it away. I can't imagine it, the stars say. Tell us again about goosebumps. Tells us again about pain.
(Tincture)

I could feel hope
traveling backwards
to find us,

to whisper into our chests,
There will be music for you
one day.
(First Love)