Words get in the way, of course,

there’s so much to tell

but none is worth telling.

The right word for the right situation

at the right time

comes only once in a blue moon

if it comes at all.

& so they dare not break the silence

even if the silence itself

breaks them.

“No one writes to the colonel,”

Marquez ricocheting

in the labyrinth of his mind,

but should a soul write a word

or two,

would it save him from perdition?

Words always get in the way,

& he, who is drunken with words,

knows he’s at a loss for the word,

that word, to sum up

a moment, a gesture,

a feeling felt & strangely claimed to know

as he surveys

the empty room,

that face he kept losing in a crowd.

No word to represent

how it is that makes him grope

like a man in a wheelchair

for the word

without rolling over

to the floor.



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