*Anthology*

There was something to say before
that I could say
when I was there
and had a way
		with words,
but I'm not much myself anymore.

Now I'd rather listen.
If I must write,
write just enough
so that the sight
		of words
reassures me someone wrote them.

Love sears and lovers give
severed flowers
from southern climes
unlike ours.
		My words,
too, were rooted once, alive.