About these things

wouldn't know
what to say
wouldn't know
what to do

wouldn't care
about these things

wouldn't remind myself
when to go
when to leave
when to talk
about these things

when to move
when to sit
silent

so I give
these things
to you.

tell me
talk to me
move me
find me
a way through
these things
your way
through
these things.

born blind
then
there was the soil
upon my eyes
and your touch
and I saw
you
and your way

above these things

-- Rob Lamb, written 12/28/05