It opens to the picture in motion, out of sight.
Always in mind when you hold the door
And hands still gently press against the glass
In a lapse of distrust. Double-crossed,
Fingers behind the back
Just to keep yourself together.
Come in parts and fall apart
Like some 80's sitcom poorly shot,
But valued for its irony.
The reel squeaks on, unoiled where it touches,
But the emotion still slips through
With the help of a little fishing in warm rain
For what matters and what's true:
Your dreams are always cast
Before the lines can speak to you.
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