There is no way to solve the person
who knows the fragility of your aging cartilage
and the whisper gray shards of your eyes
and speaks one heavy phrase
after another
There is no memory kind enough
to recall these incantations
and to give them to a suspicious child
in shoes abraded by loose pavement
There is no space silent enough
to give purchase to these spit wet words
to allow their bonds to cure
and find the safety of meaning
