I look at you.
You look at me.
I look at me looking at you.
I think thoughts.
Thoughts that fly about like litter.
Words that stay small like seeds.
Do I pick them up?
Do I plant them?
Is it already too late?
The wind catches the unsaid from the wires of my mind.
The furrowed soil suckles them in.
This frightens you.
It frightens me.
We are both frightened in the silence,
in the grip of what’s left unsaid,
fear comes in and makes a rash suggestion,
dig a trench, bury everything you want to say but cannot bear, die, fear says.
But please, I beg you. Do not listen.