I’m leaking proof of a former life onto the new lawn.
I followed the hose all the way back to the beginning
but I can’t find the place I need to repair yet.
If you hand me a tissue, please, I’ll dab the melancholies
with a brush of orange tint a ballerina’s blush
I knew the sacrifice made will be larger than I expected
but the gifts and blessings I’ve become familiar with grow
They’ve landed on healthier soil, soaked in similar whiskey
aging better than most I’ve known but the hose is leaking
I just pray it doesn’t kill the grass.