I would describe myself as the landscape I buried
My mother's face, as she carried me,
how her water raged and emptied.

Dry your eyes, those tears are all you're given.
It's no surprise now, your heaven's what you're living in.

I would describe myself as the colourfield I married
my New York pages, how they prepared
my sheets and the dirges caged and cared for me.

Dry your eyes, those tears are all you're given.

It's no surprise now, your heaven's what you're living in.

"whenever auntie moves around her dress makes a curious sound they trail behindher up the floor and [bad word] after through the door." (auntie's skirts-R.L.Stevenson)

Dry your eyes, those tears are all you're given.
It's no surprise now, your heaven's what you're living in.
Dry your eyes, those tears are all you're given.
It's no surprise now, your heaven's what you're living in.