“I stay and I shake, I age and I wait for the hands I used to call my home.” - P.F. I wanted to lean on a tree like a shoulder. when you threw my face into earth’s northern borders, by the time the warm salt of my tears met the ground in your place, there I learned how Yarmouth’s mud tastes. our family trees unbearably close but did never break. you saw my eyes and the pores of my face, how could we not break. what else is going to take your place?. loverman. I loved her, man.