the words for all we know

Would that the words would leave. The stories untold passing on to another unteller. The burden of proof left to some other page. To live past visitation. To build a fire where the elder spirits don’t call. This empty unencumbered with the telling.

The words habituate the husk, stick to the edges of the form. They step fearless into speeding thoughts and try to wrest them from their direction. They cling tight to the feeling as the heart sings in rounds. They cling tight to the shine when they come claiming crown. They chat you up and bed you down, ghosts in the hard harbor of unnamed hungers. They tear you down and sell your soul for scrap.

The hour lingers and the words come round. They open all my drawers and call out my secrets. The stacked deck and wicked mantra in the mirror. The old taunts and broken oaths, the watcher out the window, the murder at the door. They toss my cell and scoff at the mess they make, 52 pick up with all my plans. I’ve got nothing, but they don’t stop. All the hard questions and told stories. Love letters only words for all we know.