Speak, you say
as you peel away
the cage I made
from frozen limbs.

Speak,
and tell me what you hide.
Show me the words curled deep
under your ribs,
tell me what your silence means.

Under the silence,
in between the bones and muscles,
I confess,
I hold an ocean.
Where the words are lost amongst the flotsam
and the surging
and I find the noise is deafening,
and I find I am afraid.

I am too tired
to fish for the right words.
This ocean is vast
and I am small
and the sentences you ask for,
hide deeper than my line could reach.

I am not silent,
I am listening to the waves
and deciding how best
to stay afloat.