To the sharp report in the dark the season comes home
Long tongue sound between hand and arm between mouth and flesh
Hold this moment river still what if it was my life
To return after years to the same province of danger
An old town you know like the handle the bump stock the trigger
I want to return to the boat that bore me from the far shore decades ago
What I lived in those languages I forgot the places I left that I want to return to
Were we seen were we spoken were all the wolves baying
Met at the edge of the bright darkness of rain
Time cannot fulfill its promise to splinter return or slow
Vow this wheel this we will this weal we even wean
We in the world would wolve a low vow foaled
Worn low at the hip to be a solid soldier who sold his soiled soul
For the chance to be the first to aim first to fire to fly
In the cross hairs I am heir to no oar to hold I am on both sides of the gun
Toll as sound or cost one that never ends and the other never returns
Any embrace is the first error in meanings slope
Wrought by thought that one could reach another touch his shape
Known in two genders like Orlando whose tongue newly woke
To pronounce any word for god or man means to enter violence’s fold
No oath sworn to save no salvation no salve no valor no ovation no nation