When my words are not your words,
when my keys are in my box
and your grass grows in someone else's lawn,
when my exhale is not your inhale,
my dreams are not your blueprint,
my banner is not your cause,
will you still dance for me?
Even when I have my guide
and you have your maps
and I have my pen
and you have your muse
and I have my song and my lips
and my fragments and pieces
and glasses and shards and my lines,
and you have you,
will you grow for me?
And when the earth that is mine
and the air that is yours
simply cease to exist in between,
And when all my straw has blown away
and your sticks have all burned down,
can we return to the bricks
and,somehow, rebuild
a vestige of what was once ours?