I am drawing the curtains open, I swear. There are still a few images in the distance that inspire warmth. I will frame them with lace, never moving my gaze away. We will fetch a pail of water together, and tend to the thirsty daffodils. The comfort inside is inaudible, but that means nothing. It cannot be that every single thing has to produce noise.
I am catching my breath, I swear. I rest on four-leaf clovers. There is a young girl seeking one, and the words on my tongue can make her happy. I am not that nice yet. She has a large pocket where it would be placed, if only I would stand up. This cruelty makes me feel powerful. My shovel digs graves, where I kick in small hope. My smile is worth her disappointment.
I am saying my prayers, I swear. Oh father, oh son. If you are not doing anything with your nails, I will need them to hang my frames. And, is it true Lucifer likes it down on Hollywood Blvd., or does he find the desperation suffocating? Anyway, anyhow, it is still cold here. Lend me your sweater, and I promise it will be returned. I will even wash it, since I do need to busy myself, and it is the polite thing to do.