'...he laughed when I asked him how he felt...'
"Heavy," he whispered.
"Heavy and dry."
These are merely words on screen,
delivered by the veins of light.
The bottle, shattered and repieced,
the message never unmade.
I stole their voices as well,
stilled in the unknown soup.
Some uttered missives for the time
when no one can speak.
The noise won't filter,
life doesn't like to be clean.
It leaves our moments
dirty and dear.
When we have written & read
every flapping page.
We can close our hands,
and let the story happen.
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