on your tongue,
abundant meanings
of this and that
and more to come
of what is but a dot
to me, the ordinary,
a shell to me is a shell
that broke beneath my
shoe. to you,
to you it is the world
shattering, a heart breaking
and this and that
fragmentizing.

oh you spoke of words,
i know not of their meanings
and they sound beautiful
like an angel's facile sigh.

and you wrote of art and the dead
and their secrets,
of poets like yourself
who died for the sake of
living. but

"their words live on", you said,
just like yours will in my heart
and in the hearts of those
who do not know your face and
your touch.

as for me, the one who's
staring at your shadow,
could only breathe the words
and exhale them like a prayer.

i do not know you
but i just want to know
how it feels like
to be held by your
fingertips.

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