Poem 28, June 28
Old words hide on the page,
in books, in computer documents, in a journal,
in anthologies, unwritten but stored in the mind
of poets like memories of lovers, friends, family.
Hot summer days stifle my poetry,
new words swim naked, having left me behind.
They splash, dive, float in an eternal
search to be truth, or simply escape their cage
of silence. My silences in old words contain
no mention of our embrace nor the softness
of it nor the times I touched your hand
& you did not jerk it away.
I sit alone at my computer as day
is chased by a cool night wind. I understand
the new words I seek in two languages. I promise
myself to speak them should ever we meet again.