our doors lie open wounded
driven like the dust of papered worlds
a brilliantly tattered totem
so ornately carved in whispers
and on the tips of tongues
upon the tops of pillars
they are but simple prayers
flowing from our lips like vapor
such evidence as we have found
for it was written in the stars
and printed in the papers
it was pressed below our tables
in the hands of mystics and soothsayers
like prisons we possessed them
we trapped their sweetness between layers
and here alone we travel
to our backyard garden swings
the air of smoke so thick and full of dreams
with our hands we try to catch them
so we may discover what remains
but as we hold them in our lungs
they shall take our only breath
for they are faster and they savor
those simple songs that dance in shadow
like broken leaves along the ground
sweetly rustling in the evening
and when our mornings come
we expect to capture them once more
but forever we have lost them
and never again shall they be found
-Jason Cyrus Akhtarekhavari 11/26/14
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