What’s Left

I want to
write you
a love poem

or even instructions
on how to get out
of this mess

but there’s a rock
the size of my chest
blocking the path
between the things
I think and
those you
do not say

and I want to
say that I’m sorry
but the trouble is
I’m really not.

So instead
here I am
a poet
at a loss
for words.

You don’t speak.
So I can’t write.
And I am too tired
of the sound
of my own voice
to say another word.


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