Words

a thousand words lie
in the space between
my brain and my voicebox
they crumble before that
which they seek to express
but I give in and
they are spoken

I hear the words
and am aware
of their emptiness
but also aware that
only in hearing this
am I reminded
of words’ futility
only in seeing
how badly I wish
to run away
from this place
am I able to return
to myself running

Imaginary Conversation

a friend tells me
he has lost something
he looks and looks
but to no avail
it continues
to escape his grasp

he is not asking

for my advice
not really
I know this
but cannot help
dreaming something up

don't you see
this thing you’ve lost
is behind your looking
inside it
the moment you see this
it is found
but do you want it
badly enough
to let it go?
you know
in the end
we will have to
let all things go
what remains?
only this thing you've lost
you say you've lost it
but can that really be lost?
is there love so vast
that you can bear even
being without love?

none of these words are spoken
it is clear I am talking to myself