we fall
we rise
we find each other at the bottom
it’s not where we started but we here
here at a fountain;
throwin’ dimes
wishin’ for a miracle:
feedin’ weedin’ threw the muk at the bottom
can i get a dolla fifty?
fifty begging for air
yet
we got here
out of the weeds
through the open doors
into a day
where we could breathe fresh air
where the mornings are filled with jelly toast and cartoons
where the nights are not filled with open prayers and sealed letters
and this is Troy
Saint's Muse 