If only we were trained younger
...to listen,
then you might hear the under-words
that my diction tries to scream.
You might hear that “I miss you”
whispers “I love you, still.”
This could be a huge innovation,
verbal peripheral vision.
Just see the flares of green
on the edges of “I’m glad you’re happy,”
the slight haze of gray tinting my face.
I’m talking in fogs and sparkles,
ephemera that sometimes I can’t even see.
Maybe my problem is that I’ve
moved into a faerie realm, where words
are chimaeric, dancing and mocking,
making faces at us
behind our backs.
I suppose they’re tired
of going unheard.

05/12/2009

Posted on 11/15/2010
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