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