We strode dumb with creation, mercy us,
(Our hands our feet) moving fast free smooth right
Over marble floors, their own whispered trust.
Like lines from letters returned unopened
That shadow-born servants could not ignore,
You looked. We looked, for what wasn't spoken,
But found only the falling of the shore.
Our faults seemed arrows that refused to fly,
Relics from a time when kindness was vice.
Still, I tried. And still their still tips woke in me
Words of wanting, like cats sing songs of mice.
They named new names for why waters weave,
Drawn back like the last bow from our sleeping sea
At dawn: Alexander and Genevieve.
Nathan Woods, editor/overlord