SHARING

He watched into the air,
Looking out,
Wanting to sing himself to her,
To say "When I was five,
I played in the tall grass," and,
"Last night I thought about my first dog dying,"
And to say it all in one breath and two eyes.
There was no word that would make her know.
He couldn't say himself,
Or she couldn't hear him.
He thought about showing her,
Going to that place and saying
"This is where I saw the water so pure
I thought I could live again,"
Or watching the tape with her and saying
"That's what made me know."
But he couldn't show himself either.
He couldn't even make her see herself.
She couldn't understand what it was
When she spoke to him about school
Or what happened when she said "thank you."
He just couldn't share himself in the right way.
She never knew.
He could only look at his own eyes
And sing her in himself,
Softly whispering her into his room.