it is a grey weight
rolling inside me
the perfect words
ringing like gold
and they are not mine
your voice tells a story
saying I am not your child
I cannot be taught or held
you leave me like my father
falling out of the sky to others
leaving me to look over terrace rails
looking for the path
I am so empty I echo
it hurts to feel the shudder of
those repetitions
the hollow reconstruction
of something like a rose petal
without its silk
all I do is hear you
unfairly because I can’t even
touch your face
too often
you blow your sound to me
and I try to preserve its silver bubbles
but they vanish into black
so quickly
and without eyes to speak
