Still Life

Still Life

I sit

by a dish of light

with darkness at my back.

I throw in words,

flowers of flame; only

the dry, bright ones--

you, remember, once, then--

while I leave the sodden

syllables in a pile--

now, tomorrow, alone, gone--

for nothing

will make them

burn.

We can't speak the tongues

of each other's pain;

still, we huddle in light

and forgive.

~August, 2018

Image: Stilleben mit Blumen, 1908, by Heinrich Kuhn    Public domain