There are the whispy looks backward, the hopes of floating through the galaxies of the eyes again, of footsteps at night down a long hall, a waking dream, a love turned back into the garden it once was
And then one day, the sun sliding down the Santa Monica mountains, the cold Pacific beyond the hospital window, it all falls apart
It turns into what it was: a coward being cowardly
The footsteps fade, the brightness of the real replaces the faintness of a once good idea
And then
Surrender
And then
The turning away
The heart will mend; the truth being told