Sometimes it’s all the
unspoken things
that hit you the hardest –
those shy hopes, those reveries
and sharp wants,
all the mirrors you want to face but can’t.
Maybe that’s why I sometimes write
in second person –
it becomes like someone who understands
just how it can be, you know?
Second person never feels lonely,
even when togetherness
is a singular impossibility.
It’s the unspoken kenning of your heart
for its blood,
though who really knows another?
You haven’t heard, but
electrons have painted and carved you
into my mind and being, always present,
unbidden and unspoken.
J. Pratt-Walter
1/24/2016
