Plans - Marika Hackman

Who holds the dice in their tight little hands?

I’m not a liar a maker of plans

Who will be lost when the boat hits the land?

I will hold out my hand

There’s still rain on the floor

From the first day of the storm

The moment I step out

Of the forest’s gaping mouth

The eve of the sun

For a day that never comes

The pains and the aches

Of a wave that never breaks

A wave that never breaks

Who holds the dice in their tight little hands?

I’m not a liar a maker of plans

Who will be lost when the boat hits the land?

I will hold out my hand

The final goodbye

Of an everlasting sigh

The exhale of your heart

When your ribcage tears apart

The block of your tears

From a fog that never clears

A ripple on the lake

From a shake that shakes the shakes

A shale that shakes the shakes