She's barefoot in the yard,
Looking for rose stems,
Singing.
He's bare naked in the mud,
Looking for poem,
Laughing.
And we find ourselves,
Bare chested in the,
Mosh pit,
Of our early thirties.
And I find myself,
Bare hearted when I'm, in the mountains alone,
Alone.
We're still playing baseball,
On indigenous land,
We're still shedding classism,
In the shaming of tan lines.
We keep keepin' the river in jars,
Keep keepin' the wind in barrels,
Keep keeping the children inside for recess,
See where that gets us.