Mental Health

she takes.

if shyness shamed
the oceans slaughting
a bag of bones, it lain a stentorian love
if shyness shamed
she recalls in deathly naught the beguile
of roses, adulterated by her fingers,
written in verses yet morose


you can never hear my voice,

but you will see my eyes shift to the ground

spending reflection—who are you,

you, you are little known,

and that’s okay, as a faceless shore,

we do not need to be known.


arrayed in language
unnoticed in its death,
as the leaves survive
the siege of winter