Elbows on table
wood grain holding too much
face in your hands
without noises
no sobs, no sighs
no anything.
Your posture sharp
demonstrating my flaws
displaying no one's triumphs
speaking in strains
and voids between
our thoughts.

I bring you tea
place the mug on that
overwhelmed table
with no response.
Outside the air moves
the broken wind chime.
My head turns,
the legs of that
dumb chair we
bought at an estate sale
scrape against the floor
as you push away
from the table.
I see your back as
you walk through
the door.
And those elbows
that sat on the table.