There are too many words and yet never enough.
Too many roles to reveal
But never adjectives descriptive enough
A thread fraying with webs
And webs fraying with threads
As we try to braid them into understanding.
We try, we grasp, and we blurt out our love –
But in the end, we can give only silence
And the beating of our hearts.
For there throbs the mural, the novel,
The love letter garbled in speech.
There lays our truth, the truth born of our love,
That pulses in golden empathy and recognition.
Even once the pages fade to light
And the ink dribbles away to a new sea,
The fallen know of our unending affection
And bow their heads in blessing as we press
Our backs against the wall that separates us.
We do not need words.
We need only love.
pilkingt@stolaf.edu
