CK Tower

"I shall be like that tree..."

She's been silent since December. I worry
about the gray, the granite sky. I force words
to fill empty spaces, I can't sit still
as she does,
her long naked fingers, cracked skin over sculpted bones
stretch out to me. I try
to remember the shape of her hands
full flushed with crimson
in October. I beg her to confess,
but she won't tell her secret
of patience.
How silence
is a dream,
a disremembering
of naked limbs
and rough bones,
a quiet purchase
of green.

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The 2River View, 1_4 (Summer 1997)