img_3797-2Solitude does not take so very long
before undoing our need for sound
or the beating on tin roof
of rain and words and meaning too
as she lay beneath persistent thrum
seeing no language necessary or brave enough
to furnish her with sufficient description
how does the rain tell tin or some other fabric
the lingua of a heart?
or perhaps a thin line of wire
connecting and disconnecting thought
in fragile measure
how does it relate? That old scarred ache
persisting beyond the tongue?
into a realm where words cannot
fathom the depths of hurt enough
there are times when silence and that
open mouth pressed against knuckle
diving into foam, in brief deafening wail
of nature lashing herself with hues of red
as if it rained color instead of remorse
she tried to take your hand though wet
lost grip and slipped before gained
swallowed up against sliding words
we no more
have left
they are ushered to quiet places within
the fragility of our hang
Ariel do you mark this weathered vane?
before it slips willingly beyond us
severing source
in shadowed formation
sea birds break their sleep
with first glimpse of