04-29-2017, 04:03 AM
What I Can’t Say
I have long considered myself
the echo of a song
from which a wind might find its way.
Not this aging carcass
or wizen purveyor of empathy
for those close to me. Nor my
awkward emptiness.
But beneath the layers of blessings
all of them and beyond
where gray may light up
like the western edges of clouds
just before sundown.
Where things vibrate
without words.
I have long considered myself
the echo of a song
from which a wind might find its way.
Not this aging carcass
or wizen purveyor of empathy
for those close to me. Nor my
awkward emptiness.
But beneath the layers of blessings
all of them and beyond
where gray may light up
like the western edges of clouds
just before sundown.
Where things vibrate
without words.