Previously,

in times of youthfulness and daring,

my words had just gargled out of my mouth

and into your arms and into this world

where they splished and splashed and

sought to be rivers

with sudden bends and stronger currents.

/

And then, one cloudy afternoon in early fall, they had run dry,

just like that,

entirely.

/

Suspended in silence,

and maybe even sadness,

we sat.

/

And after this long while of the wordless longing

to still pour out and into your arms –
/
/
/