you want to go back.
where you can listen to lightning
like a lullaby
and the clouds and the moon
wrap you up baby-tight.
where the only ones out and about
are alive,
and they know darkness can't hurt you
if you're already blind.

and the washed out white street lights
that lean over the 205,
have something to say if you happen to listen,
so you watch as they close their wise, crooked eyes
and reminisce in
the hours when the zombies had asked you to join them,
and you refused, what a fool,
said you felt it deep down in your soul:
the song the lightning sang
before you ran away from home.
and you hummed it,
with soft salty eyes,
wrapped your arms around yourself like the clouds that held you tight.
said,

do not fear the morning,
and do not fear clarity.

the wisdom of the night
is just bright colored candy.

shout aloud to the mountains,
or else go and drown in the sea:

those who are blind, open your eyes!
and who are captive, run free.