When you scratch the bottom of the river
Turned upside down by current’s toss
Trying to find the waves and surface
and catch your breath of air

When you follow a lonely breeze
To climb a mountain without a trail
And stumble through the brush
Losing your footing, laid quite bare

And you stay up late at night
Divining right from rows and columns
Finding error after error in math
That wasn’t done to be fair.

I think that two hearts bound by love
Are also bound to share in sorrow
For what you offer of your pain
I hope to carry or, at least, to share.

150 150 Stafford Wood
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