In a place where I can't find words
I would reach for the colors
you spilled onto my pallet.
All the pieces of us we made together
shaded by who and what we were.
They are here,
waiting for my brush
to glide through them
and float up
working them into a portrait -
of how you filled my world-
and brought me laughter
and love
and the tender closeness of
twinned steps trodding across the canvas of my soul-
but I cannot move.
I just sit in this quiet place,
words unformed outside me
drifting in the dusty air
against the images of ghosts,
no more than a questioned memory
as I stare down at colors
that cannot speak for me
because they are muddied by the scars you left behind.
Tears...
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