they said we couldn't make it

each too different

and i guess they were right.

one day she was gone

and standing there alone

i looked to the window

calling me with open arms

ready to embrace me

in its beauty, and i let it.

through its frame and out

into the open sky

like a bird, never understood,

until i finally set my feet

down on the sidewalk

ten stories below.

later, there was a

closed-casket funeral and

they called it sin but

i call it art.