Words rumble and roll down mountains of youth;
Down valleys and rivers and gurgling brooks
until they come to rest in this darkened pool.
It is still and empty
the magnificent thunder of silence
rings in my ears.
I wept for the stranger in the photograph.
Stand as high as you can and hold the sunbeams in your hand;
isn't possession all you want?
The tears were so silent. So sudden.
Pick up the shattered glass pieces of your life
and hold them to the light.
Let them tell the story you're afraid to hear.
My face, my neck, and my collarbones.
Wet. The ridges and curves
it took thousands of years to perfect.
Atavistic mechanism activated.
Watch the lights and the shadows
dance in the belly of time. Impatient.
Hold my salt-dried face in the hollows of your hands.
Let me cry if I need to.
Someday, I want to be
a poem that would shake you.