Water Shaded Words
The silence of writing
is the sound of hope
Writing in a class
in the car
on a bench
in a wrinkled bed
I carry the words with me
I sprinkle them around like holy water
I wish they were
Listening to the quiet of pen on paper or keys clicking
Listening to the ache of a mind struggling with listening
Will the words always be there?
Dear God, what if the words stop?
But words aren’t everything
There is dust following a Harley
There is a boat cresting Pacific waves
A weekend in Tahoe
requires no words beyond Mastercard
A morning driving across Wyoming
offers more than I can ever write
Who needs words when there is the plea of an arched eyebrow?
Who needs words when there are
passion driven moments of lucidity?
Words can get in the way of an embrace
But today we’ll live with the words
Tomorrow we’ll live with the movement
And the door that connects them,
The door that connects them,
I see reflected in a single bead of water running down your back