His name is called and there's a pause

just long enough to halt a war

tame timber wolves and trim their claws

hide diamonds in a secret drawer

He swears on his mother's life he wasn't there.

And if he was there

he swears on his mother's life it wasn't him.

And if it was him

He's the Keepy-Uppy Kid.

Eyes as wide as continents brim wih the water between.

Seeks a different future. Looks back on what has been.

The light through the blind is a poem,

the way it illuminates air.

And the shadows that fall

on the floor and the wall

are signs that a poem is there.

The playground is built on top of a graveyard.

Press your ear to the tarmac and you'll hear the undead

scratching on their coffin lids.