there are no words left in my lungs
no words to teach or shout
no words to defend myself
i exhaled them one by one
i used them up, in my younger days
before i cared to learn from others
when i was more interested in noise
than silence
but i have infinite words in my hands
and hands are as much for loving
as they are for learning
so i will learn you
and love you
with these hands of mine
there are times in life
when saying nothing at all
is the best defense
my head on your lap
while you hum me a sweet song
slow the day, my love
a touch of color
seems to be finding its way
into the grass out front
somewhere under all that snow
is a willingness to grow
as it is for you and me
slow to move
from the chill of the past
but somewhere under all this stress
is the desire to progress
when the snow melts
it waters the earth
and how much warmer is the spring
for the winter?
can you hear them sing?
our little feathered prophets
telling of the spring
three inches of white
creeping up the stones
around our backyard tree
the snow owns the earth
and all I can think about
is proclaiming that i, too, am owned
you have me
with all this cold
the world needs some warmth
with all these lies, something true
and maybe the declaration of us
can be both?
let’s write it on parchment
nail it to the door
after all, i am reformed by your touch
every time we meet