i’m not the songbird
you reach
out to
on mornings void
of sound,
to lift you from
same worry
that frames your
wistful frown,
though i may lend the warmth
you yearn for,
when you think to
turn around.
support
walls of this room
wept
with each
share
of members clasped
in a mutual
embrace
transcending human
language and
fear,
oh these walls
shed tears.
i melted into
you
and felt that
ache
as though i
caused
it,
then tried to
soothe
it
in ways that robbed
you of the
chance
to better know
yourself.
she wouldn’t remember
my voice on
the end
of the
line
but responded with
kindness,
as though she had
known and
loved
me
throughout her
harsh life,
impacting me for
the rest of
mine.
wishing i could hold
your history,
not that it’d seal each
wound left,
by ones who hadn’t
mopped up
regrets
still seeping from
your chest..
all over
mine.
come in crashing,
i’ll catch you
gladly
and steady us
both,
but won’t hold
the full
load–
’cause i’m too
shaky..
and this i
know.
a dear friend on
the mend
leans too close
for advice,
i offer not
wisdom
but will listen
all night.
hands in the garden 
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