Not To Steal The Sun

Blue sky inside my shoes.
Blue shoes blushing like stolen jade.
Open your lions, take out your tigers.
Forever and you share a pocket.

They told me not to steal the little song.
The burning river’s dream makes me.
Open your fingers, take out all those ways.
There is a speaking fire that isn’t force.

Her eyes surround forests.
Imagine wings like stars in clear minds.
Her lips moisten the edge of time.
Like mountains running to play.

The sounds they make wash me away.
I am streets or names of streets in books.
All those languages like wingless birds.
The wreckage of cities churns out flies.