I have spent my time listening,
words have never escaped these lips,
not like time has my fingers,
or your breath has my sheets.

No, I know now
speech is far from simple
and time is far from wasted.
Words are too pure
to run across lips lacking
the impeccable silence love brews.

The hypocrisy of this ink feels
that hushed breath loneliness beats
into the chest.
The world has taken my breath
but the beating keeps me going.

Grass is green,
and green means go,
so even my front lawn feels
the hurt and is wise enough
to believe it can go somewhere,
even when it's standing still;
in the same way, I can shout at God
with my trembling lips sewn shut.