by John Grey
like a bookmark in your favorite novel
I count the words you've read
since the last time -
like the nails down your hidden blackboards
I quantify the unspoken screams
like the knots you tie
I follow the dreams
of your fingers
to their tight and binding ends -
like the bass notes
of the songs you hum
I'm there unsung but
holding up your broken tenor
like the bulb that blew
when you switched on the light
like the air between
the Venetian blinds
when you shut them
like the last breath
out of your lips
no longer air
no longer anything
I'm partial to what you deliver
and understand
what you send away
like the roads
you follow on the map
I'm thin as the blood
beaten from your heart -
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