Sea Shells

It seems that all my bridges have been burned,
But you say that’s exactly how this grace thing works

How are my veins so void of words, lately? I have nothing to say worth saying, no stories to regale, no insight reached. I dream in images of childhood and travel, I see songs and turn up the volume, but I fear this is not what belongs on these pages. Old poems read ancient.

I miss you. I miss the skin on your cheek, the hair on your arm, the melody of your voice. I miss the depth of your eye and the warmth of your love. It is better now, but the scars you left still pulsate angrily in the night. Time taught me how to think of something else. I whisper his name with confidence.

But I always have to think before I speak.