It escapes in a gasp,
slipping past the solitude, the sweet caffeine, the cold and the Word.
It comes, settling and whispering, "this truth underlies all."
Oh come
The heartache breathes it too. It's there, latticed behind it all, a picture behind a picture.
Oh come
The worn fella makes a quip about the weather.
It's the same one I'm sure is heard the world over; one of those eternal truths it seems. We commiserate a minute, two people in on the joke, and he leaves.
I'm sure he drives a truck.
And the cold seeps again through this window.
And the sweet caffeine is gone.
Make this right
Fix this
Oh come.
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