Two hands built a room,   your name mispelt on every stone.   Dead son built a room,   your name mispelt on every stone.      I beat my head on every wall   until I learned to steal back caution.      Caution stolen from the wind and   buried in my backyard,   wrapped around a heart, tied with string   and buried in my backyard.      I hoped a tree would grow there.      Boarded windows stole the view of   every tree that touched the sky.   I stayed indoors   and tried to wash the carpets clean.   I couldn't get the blood out.   And he said,   "Wear my distance like a new skin.   Show me palms that only push away."