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You ever look at something clean
And realize
You’re the thing making it difficult?
Room six, north side, temporary walls
One chair, one sink, no pictures at all
Coat on the heater, map folded flat
Emergency radio sleeping beside my bag
They gave me water in a hospital glass
Said, "Drink, you’ve been moving too fast"
I watched one small bubble climb through the clear
Like it knew where it wanted to go from here
My hand kept shaking, so I blamed the train
Blamed low blood sugar, weather, lack of sleep, pain
Anything practical, anything plain
Anything except hearing your voice again
You said, "You make yourself useful
So nobody asks what you need"
I called that cruel at the time
Now it sounds like clarity
Because I carried whole rooms
When the lights went out
Gave directions through smoke
Never spoke about doubt
Got everybody through the tunnel
Every name accounted for
Then locked myself inside
When we reached the other door
Glass water
Clear enough to see
Every little fracture
Looking back at me
Glass water
Cold against my hand
I can lead a hundred people
Still don’t know
Where I stand
There was a woman on the third car
Holding medicine tight
Kept asking if her brother
Made the second train that night
I told her, "We’ll check the records
When the signal returns"
She nodded like a person
Who already knew the words
Truth was, I saw his name
On the platform screen
Status marked missing
Where the green should’ve been
I could’ve told her there
Could’ve broken the lie
But hope was all she carried
And the tunnel was five miles
So I gave her a task
Said, "Count everyone here"
Turned grief into numbers
Because numbers don’t fear
She counted ninety-seven
Then counted once more
Kept saying ninety-eight
Like he might walk through the door
That memory stayed quiet
Till the room went still
Till a glass on a table
Made the whole night real
That’s the problem with water
When there’s nothing mixed in
You can see straight through it
To whatever you did
Glass water
Clear enough to see
Every little fracture
Looking back at me
Glass water
Cold against my hand
I can lead a hundred people
Still don’t know
Where I stand
I used to think strength
Meant never spilling
Never stopping
Never asking anyone
To hold the weight
But a sealed glass
Still breaks
It just breaks quietly
Morning came gray through the wired-glass pane
Radio woke up with another missing name
I reached for the coat, reached for the map
Then saw my reflection in the water looking back
Not a saint
Not a captain
Not the voice in control
Just a tired man
Using motion to avoid being whole
I thought every road lied
Because it never let me leave
Maybe roads only move
Maybe I supplied the deceit
Thought the prize machine owned us
Because it measured what we’d give
Maybe I kept volunteering
Every private part to live
Thought Tomorrowline made me
When I pulled that lever down
But the people moved together
I just said it out loud
So I picked up the glass
Felt the cold hit my teeth
Let the water reach the places
I kept underneath
No miracle happened
No choir, no light
The room stayed small
And the day stayed white
But my hand stopped shaking
For a second or two
And I finally said his name
The one I never told you
Malik
Glass water
Clear enough to see
Every little fracture
Doesn’t have to bury me
Glass water
Cold against my hand
I can carry other people
And still admit
I cannot stand
Glass water
Nothing left to hide
I drank what I could
And let the rest
Stay beside me
Clarity doesn’t heal you
It just stops helping you lie