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Hands Like Houses

We get in our own way, tripping on our feet.
Filling up our heads too much with words too hard to speak.
Drowning in a place, where the night can not escape,
Commit ourselves into the depths, exposed against a page.

Caught in a phrase, an echo in our minds,
A flash, a flood, and it's burned into our eyes.

I can't explain enough, and I won't let it last the night.
I'll show you that the image is still there unseen.
It's darkest before the light, if we shut our eyes to see
The things that we have lost inside the lines between,

Between the black and white, where everything goes grey,
And everything's unsaid, undone, and the negative bleeds away
To reveal the memory that we've waited for so long for.
The image shifts and the acid drips down the paper to the floor.

We're so nervous to see if we we've let too much in,
If we were out of focus or out of frame.
I know it's a moment of truth, if a recollection captured reality,
Or if it's lost forever.

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