i’m sorry i couldn’t go to your game today
i was on the verge of capturing
a universe in a grain of sand
and i’m sorry i can’t take you fishing son
my hands are cupping an invisible rose
and our blood is mingled on its thorns
tomorrow though our sails will fill
we will skim across blue oceans
and the forgiveness will be endless
but for now son i have work to do
i must contain this throbbing in my cupped palms
and scan each grain as it falls for the next creation
