The clouds were like cathedral celings
and the stars might've been God's eyes peeking through the night
to see us, as little as we are,
as quiet as we're not, in the
boxes and buildings we call home.

We might have been angels in the rain that night,
hiding our wings beneath our wet and clinging t-shirts

We might have been lovers in the grass that night,
foregoing our passion for a closeness born of need.

But I could only hold you for so long before that line,
that wall I had built,
began to waver and dissolve.

My might-be's grow soggy in the rain and
clouds are not cathedrals in the sky.
My line has been redrawn, my wall is resecured
and only God is watching from above.

AcB 2.10.00