When It Falls

It could be a Monday,
(but it may be any day,)
I go walking down seventh street

to pick up pieces of me,

scattered, stitches loose,
draped over duct tape
that finally ran out of steam.

This wall took decades to build;

an airtight alibi
until you loosened the bricks,
one by one,
corroded the mortar
that lies between the cracks.

Only love can bridge the gap,
pry open this heart,
break the chains
between light and death

and just walk right in.



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