Words aren't enough.
Reaching, grasping, struggling,
I could come up with a million of them.
I could chant them,
I could shoot them as an arrow,
missing the mark just shy.
I could slip them into a pocket,
falling out to tumble in the wind.
I could hand them over,
ink bleeding from paper to stain open hands.
They are not enough.
They will never be enough, even in
So all I can say is
and hope that you hear
trapped within them.