For Ways To Speak
Tonight there are broken bits of moon
scattered about the surface of a rippled pond,
trying to draw themselves together again
like a broken web of spider silk after a rain.
If I were a window, I would open myself
and let you hear the spaces that surround
these broken bits of light, small dancing shards
of my heart folding itself inward around
the words I would once have spoken.
But now, I can't let the words
trickle through my own mind,
I can never let them get to my tongue
or even to my fingertips...
I am becoming my own silence.
...but love,
love cries for ways to speak.
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