When words can do no more

When words can do no more
but stutter, stumble and recall
the depth and breadth of past declensions;
when feelings fumble from the deep
like trees bereft in winter gale
that fall but leave intact deep twisted roots
which suddenly each spring renew
fragile pale green shoot on withered branch,
and all I love in you is transcribed in the beauty
of our children’s laughing faces.

It seems somehow we’ve tried it all
somersaulted, Catherine wheeled
blazed the darkened nights with fireball frenzy,
so many years of fighting truth:
each time that you drew near I shied like startled deer
bit you with a tigers wrath
then watched you bleed your mortal wounds
couldn’t somehow croon the sounds
to heal our broken language.

This is just another rhyme,
you’ll say it lies the way all the others do
but I always, always, knew that shining secret heart
you keep hidden out of touch where it’s padlocked to my soul;
here words can do no more than recall ghostly lives
when you were mine and for some reason I don’t know
I battered down that twice locked door to reach the other side
so I could tell you one more time,
that despite myself and between the lines
maybe because you make me cry,
I’ll always, always, love you.

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