it is a numbing a piercing of the proverbial heart with aching, dull shard a cold depth swallowing lungs contract, fluid-filled

base of an eggshell in a portrait of painting she is pure canvas had I been a painter she would direct turpentine

fallible fallen features flawless foes feel, feel, feel formulated

She saw them fishing poles in hand, walking fro… Fingers, gnarled, crippled with the passing of age. The skin around their eyes, a cany…

his gloved hand reaching veiled indifference death of a stolen voice crushing, squeezing

yes... a million times over, I sai… to him, to them to everyone, to no one I gave pieces of me Perhaps

for the beauty of the day we wept huddled mass one, singular in thought we

there is a chamber there is a heart we dream it we taste it ours, unconditionally

and in that tear, everything broke every shard of pain, every loss the losses yet to come her voice, her heart caught

it was a blank page. Her hardened gaze caused no words to appear. No flourishing language to embellish the explanation.No distractions to explain the lack of written monologue. Not even...

starlight sings silver catalyst for dreams the woosh of the window unit roars with smokey tang on my lips, I shi… shoulder to door pane, perceptions…

all the poetry inside, the curtain… dropping dusty upon the frailty of my words the world, too old my thoughts, too young, too same