i'm not certain in which room

well -

i'm not certain in which room
He thought you'd ought reside,

since -

square is round as square can be
when all you do is hide

from -

all His hurried days that race
across your pebbled street,

since -

blades of grass ignore the touch
when faced with His retreat

toward -

lightness chalked by blackish coal
that's dug with bitter hands

which -

bleed upon His stretch of time,
congealing where you stand.

//

i'm not certain in which room
He thought you'd ought reside,

so -

do your best, son, do your best,
and let the Fates decide.