Some days her shape in the doorway
Will speak to me
A bird¡¯s wing on the window
Sometimes I¡¯ll hear her when she¡¯s sleeping
Her fever dream,
A language on her face.
I want your flowers like babies
want God¡¯s love or maybe
as sure as tomorrow will come.
Some days, like rain on the doorstep
She¡¯ll cover me
With grace in all she offers
Sometimes I'd like just to ask her
What honest words
She can¡¯t afford to say, like
I want your flowers like babies
want God¡¯s love or maybe
as sure as tomorrow will come.