I give them my word

and then it breaks—

splintered letters

I cannot hold together

in the weakness

of my hands.

I try to splint them

back, force the word

to work—cracks and all,

but I have faded

from rock to wood

to settled ash.

The promises of yesterday,

I can no longer lift,

and others will learn

the way to walk forward

is without me.

~~~

It is silence

when they have gone—

my own silence—

the sound of

speechless lips

and halted action.

I am bound

tight to stillness

with a body

that has learned

to curse the

mind’s demands.

~~~

I hear Him come,

expecting some rebuke

for speaking words

I could not keep,

but He says, “Sleep,”

and takes me up

in ageless arms

as if to say

He never needed

un-spoiled plans

or steady hands

or tireless feet.

He only wanted me.