Where.


Where have my words gone, my laughter, my songbird's voice?
Flown up and out into the cacophony of the world
Lost in the traffic sounds, 
The lumbering of trucks, 
Scattered by a city wind and tangled in the voices of so many spewing gossip, 
It's blown up, into the deep fluorescent night clouds, lit from the cities deep below, 
and back against the cold reflection of myself in a darkened upstairs window. 


Where have my words gone, my Laughter, my bare and dancing feet?
Out into the world to join the sidewalk pounders, 
The heavy lifters, 
The ones who do not wake from their troubled sleep. 

Where have my words gone, my laughter, my easy peace?
Flown up and out like a murder of black winged crows 
That once kept watch 
From my stone stepped seat.

Where have my words gone. Where have my letters and notes and signs?
Out and down and through the mail, 
To be opened and to be read, 
And then to live in crumpled pages, 
Tucked between your most loved
Second hand books with battered spines. 

Where have my words gone?
 Or are they laying dormant and dried, 
Like last year's leaves, 
Asleep beneath an icy blankets of winter, 
Beneath the seasons cloak,
Untethered to a season's time

I am a puddle, frozen and cracked, it's edges brittle with the cold. 
But I am a puddle, my middle melted, moving, with the spring. 

Where have my words gone. My lilted voice. My summer laughter, my song that with the sunrise did begin.

It is here. 
However, faint. 

It is here, 
However small. 

Willful and growing, deep within me. Real. 

It's just quiet for now, 

That's all. 


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