if e’er I wrote
without your name –
or felt an ache
beneath each rhyme
I’d find you still
your fingerprints –
pressed
along my spine

but for words
I’d trade my pen –
and lay aside
attempts at grace
for once I drew
my fate with yours
along and down
an anxious page

tis not enough
to speak aloud –
for silence now
the truth will speak
as breath between
ten thousand sighs
more than I thought
could be

. . .