I cried because I’m with you in Rockland
I cried because I'm with you in Rockland,
Will the pages stick after they are wet,
And folded over one another?
Will the pages be ruined
If I close the book;
If I lose the page?
Will I leave myself with you in Rockland
And make a pilgrimage with my body
To the place where I will be buried?
I suppose only if I close the book.
I closed the book.
And it sits on the liminal windowsill
And it is a body of tears waiting to be dredged
The windowsill is not covered
And neither are the panes
But the sun does not caress the book
It does not shine on you in Rockland
It does not shine on me in Rockland
It does not shine on us in Rockland
I am most definitely with you in Rockland