to stop my hands from tumbling
in trembling light
speak of foreign sighs from quiet machines

and the strange way a thumbprint
mistakes a heart

the wires will sit
in implied conversations over this

(and my voice will quit
into my stomach if left alone)

did you know?

some things
are not meant (to be mistaken) for others

and (remind me)
that all of these parentheses
are the words we forget to say

notes: When I wrote this, I didn't like it much. Now, a few months later, it still bothers me a little bit (esp. the rhyming and the pathetic parenthetical ending), but I like it more especially the beginning which I remember took longer to write than the rest of the poem. Written in August, this is my most recent poem. I'm in a writing slump.