We sit here
silent
with everything to say
and nothing said.
Breathing is so labored,
as if the shallow end of air
cannot carry the deep end words.
It is hearts that are tender and tired
not tongues...
and the body,
from all it has born -
injustices from within and without.
Have you seen the stunned bird
looking dead,
a shade of peaceful,
but for the rapid breath?
Now,
when she closes her eyes
I stand watch over a bit of fabric
fluttering like a curtain
with the metronomic rise and fall of her...
a sign for now
she is alive.
.
.
.
