Leave what feels wrongest To the plains behind our feet. We wield trumpets to call our marriage Out from beneath our hands. What we wield is an apology To those who only suffered Under the rocks of a million lakes, Filled with their worry and tears. We fold breaths Like blankets, about our arms. We seek justice In plain sight. May we marry The well that drives up our vision? May we add The one who represents our ideal? I feel our eyes coming to a close, I feel our beating hearts opening. I see our faces glimmering in the light, While our suffering faces the darkness. Soon to breathe only the snow across our hands, Descending as frozen tears.