The Expatriate Saints

Take time...    
Try to stay awake
And maybe...
     We'll repatriate
Then when we find...
          a trail that we can take,
          we'll make our way
          back home across broken gold lines.

Now, I'll time...
     the minutes of the days
But still we'll...
     Talk 'til the skies turn grey
Of stark, sharp lights...
          that hack the clouds and say
          all of the ways
          to lay in our graves or evolve.

The night stays still,
     while the wind howls
     and the snowflakes
     melt to frozen
     whitewashed walls
             cover the map.

So I'll sit still
     while the lines blur
     and the ink bleeds--
     feel the rumbling
     icy road
          because we are--

--One tight tug on the collar of my coat
One last shot to thaw words froze in my throat
          I'll need no lies to get through this one.

Us kids we sit and share the warm
Out here in Western winter storms
          Press on, we'll make it fine through this one.

Get home to bed and I shove some things aside
then sleep sound beside Swiss Army knife,
shirts pants and a couple unpaid bills...
It's a cluttered sleep, I know. But still...

Slow breaths on my frosted window panes
We'll recap hours after I awake
     but still,
     but still,
We are the Expatriate Saints.