Freya

The security of hope, stretches out in lovely ways, I know I’ll always cope, I'll go home soon, in a sun that slays, all the pockmarked yellow stone, down the New York slopes, I can feel its rays, splice Brooklyn ropes. the cool evening due, is when debt are paid, no one's surprised or snoops, do my parents know, how I pray, indifferent stars unfold, clouds chase like schooners, burdened with quotas of praise I’m not made to atone, to wonder at my gains.