BETWEEN WORDS

Forgive me for not writing.
I want secrets of my own now.
I want a spade in the dirt.
I want to use my hands to turn the soil
To put down roots. 

I want the silence between words.

I want to sleep.
I want to watch you sleep,
To learn how to make a soft egg.

Perhaps, I’ve run out of words.

"It is what it is," he'd say,
Before changing my name.
So many names, so much shame.

Maybe words aren't enough.

Now, the birds visit me.
They watch,
And I think they like me,
Because I don’t try to understand.
I no longer need anyone to understand.