suddenly it becomes a service
going public with the knowledge
that everything decays,
we will eventually dismember,
that someone will walk over us
reading names on squares in the grass,
the wind passes nothing on its lips,
over the tongue and under the teeth,
it's only from the silence we learn
that bones break and flesh tears.
Pain walks on ten legs
with twenty hands,
subjecting itself to neither love nor hate.
leaving its mark on the carpet
which springs back forgetfully.
best to know
better to serve love
we only have each other
for a while.