Reaching for you with my sad words
between sleeping and waking
what is asked for is often destroyed
by the very words that seek it
like dew in an early morning
dissolving the tongue of salt
as well as its thirst
and I call you secret names
of praise and fire
that sound like your birthright
but are not the names of friend
while you hid from me under 100 excuses
lying like tombstones
between your house and mine
I could accept any blame I understood.
Picking over the fresh loneliness
of this too-early morning
I find relics of my history
fossilized into a prison
where I learn how to make love forever
better than how to make friends
where you are encased like a half-stoned peach
in the rigid art of your healing
and in case you have ever tried to reach me
and I could not hear you
these words are in place
of the dead air
still between us.
is more cruel
than waiting......and hoping
an answer will come.
~audre lorde, "sister, morning is a time for miracles"