I wonder where words fall?
Not the ones that land on ears
or caress hearts
or whack foreheads.
Not the ones that stop people in their tracks
or push them forward
or hold them back.
We see those words land:
sweeten like honey or
grate like sand.
And still, I wonder about the words
that slip from our mouths—
those words no body hears.
After the door closes,
whispered to a flickering fire,
against a sleeping child’s cheek,
tossed to a falling star or shining moon.
Ground into carpet,
slathered onto walls,
slithering up our spines until they treble hook into our hearts.
The ones cast over granite stone.
Words that beg us to be spoken—
or just beg us to be heard,
but our lips shackle them
until we are alone…
maybe because we feel alone.
Where do those words fall?
I wonder if we speak them aloud
and nobody hears,
if they are true.
Or more true.
And if there waits some soft place
deep the downy sky that keeps them
safe until we are ready.
Unless we find
that silence is the better angel.