Debby

When we pass strange misery, falling like the rain, a dread cortege of limousines, parents always feel, sometimes without grace, they'll never know the deal, when children grow to women, if they'll be okay, always be forgiven, Our Lady sees what's real, all the games we play, with cold lit intensity, she dances on the rivers, groaning with our names, the prayers we always summon, to hang on bursting leaves, touch the wooden weight, guarding against eternity, ignore the terms of freight.