Feb 11
they come and talk between
the lines and I tell them I am
here and listening
countless hours and
countless words spent
I turn the pages and I
write them down and I
show them
the drying ink on
the counter
to look for themselves
in the emptied spring they
call by my name
that they can take to
their hearts desire
and fear not for me
I gently whisper to the
winds
let them all
come
