Oh, Brother. No matter your wreckage.
There will be someone to find you beautiful,
despite the cruddy metal. Your ruin is not to be hidden
behind paint and canvas. Let them see the cracks.
Someone will come to sing into these empty spaces.
Their voice will echo off your insides like a second-grader
and her little brother—four years younger, two steps ahead.
Singing ‘til the metal vibrates. ‘Til the ghost ship