Stolen Jars Soles
We'll stitch them
And make each wool sleeve filthier
Sew each hem
Then run your hands into the dirt
Each grass stain
Makes your legs all the more your own
To walk on
The feet that we have weaved and sewn
Our homes were
All brittle bones and brittle knees
We're running
We'll stagger in these redwood trees
No judgment
Except the times when we will steal
No sleep now
We'll gather in the windswept fields
