Chill, dust rising with the fall of your head
upon your chest, intonating the etches of
your open journal, coastal rain, a steady drip through the
weakened roof of the abandoned artist loft:

I listen
you listen
no talk
no talk

Your lips pursed tight, catching my breath
to hold space for so sorry a sight,
my hands clasped against the cold and the sad
The abandoned paintings paying a silent vigil, blue, purple

I listen
you listen
no talk
no talk

Your cadence intensifies, your chin trembles almost imperceptibly
your furrowed brow holds the space for anger, for pain
and I want to grasp your wrists, close the book, fold you into me like the heartwood of an ancient tree- quiet, strong
the rain still falls
the dust rises tall

I listen
you listen
no talk
no talk

Your words aging us both in moments
in truths as heavy as deaths
as you speak plainly the pity of the unsaid
sowing the pattern that brought us lower than earth

I listen
you listen
no talk
no talk

You should have told me to be stronger.
I should have told you to stop.