Weeks hardly anything;
Nothing breaks this ice-cracked glass,
this pre-winter silence, unhallowed, frost-brown earth.
The traceles nothing of my step, I leave no hint, no print, no mark.
Yet knowing I would walk five-hundred miles to you,
the caveat, would you meet me half-way?
I have only the click-clack black branch clack
as the bare maple gossips with the elm;
the whisper of those down-on-their luck embittered bitches.
How they laugh to see me like this.
Saucer-eyed-green I refuse to yield to salt-brine tears.
I’ll just pickle myself in the greys without you.
I shall yearn, but never loudly. Never scream of the emergency.
Not in my nature to be so definitive, emotive.
I hide my love, my ache, my hate, my tears, my desires.
Instead I bury them in an ellipsis…
I flare, put when you do not speak.
When your aphasias leave me the sacrificial lamb.
You have forgotten me.
Say it.