Rust splinters off my fingers
As I once again grasp
For that most sacred and desperate
Solution.  Salve.  Serenity.
My poems are cracked with feeling
I am longing and needing.
Needing to be heard again
And to hear myself remembering
That most ancient, intrinsic
Scream. Scorn. Salutation.
It says hello to me again,
And threatens to destroy me.