Day 4 - 30 poems in 30 days

When Words Fail


You are the red bandana

tied around my mouth,

so it can’t talk about hands,

yours and mine.


I am a dry fountain pen

thirsty for ink,

for morning and night,

for everywhere between.


We are rocks

tumbling in the riverbed,

smoothing ourselves

to lie in quiet in other laps.


Where will our feet land

after the days of rain,

after our daily bread,

after everyone else is gone?

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