The muse is afar
A single soliloquy is
all I can muster
I have forgotten the
words of loneliness
the syllables of despair
The drifting moon
cracks open the secrets
of longing but the text is
undecipherable
Why do you call forth
in unfathomable gestures?
Can't the rain be simple?
Can't the dusk just slip
into the script of the night
unwritten? Can't love be
longed for silences?
Why cure words? Why
run through language
holding our hands like
strangers?
Aug. 19, 2016