Faces
On thirsty ground our footsteps fall
Through barren sand our fingers trace
Faces with untempered grace
Untouched by the impossible.
A thousand times the words we’ve said
Do we mean them is the question
Do words come before connection?
To love conceive must we pretend?
Or are our hearts set on fire
On their own; can a flame ignite
Without a spark; do souls unite
Truly by their own desire?
