I hold the thunderheads in my palms like secrets,
and squeeze the rain through my fingers like flowing tears.
The world- motion and darkness and the rising sun-
it screams around my heart,
a cacophony of noise and silence-
chalk drawings, half erased in rain,
quiet footsteps at an unnamed grave,
and the way he runs his fingers through her graying hair.
The stories, ever changing, ever unchanged-
I carry the words in my fists like healing,
and the stories seep through my fingers like a half-told love story:
do you see them all, standing here?
voices silenced, hearts pleading?
laugh lines and scars and ancient sorrows?
silence would be betrayal.