Wordless river
Benches falter
in dappled light,
her cup too full
for any to hold her.
I sit near her whyness
freckled moon-milk skin
clad in straps of nothing
a frown that says enough;
the mouth won't say a word.
I ask, pointless
what gift may fall true
to my friend all red-cheeked.
Will my hand which long ago
held onto her wrist, frightened
of the light blue tremor within?
Will my eye on her neck, knitting
a warm coat to shield her?
Would she look up now
and recover?
Defeated
by the near-glass fragility
of her shoulders,
by the reeds
that have left her voice,
I sit a minute longer
silent.