We can stand on the train with a
banshee outside its doors,
we can talk softly
under our breaths.
We can talk about Fibonacci numbers
and how it can be used for our next art assignment
You can tell me about bad friends
and we will feel as if we have stumbled upon
a new constitution of being.
But there is chatter all around us,
lashing down onto the hard ground.
The movement of the lips is all I can hear;
I’ll have to shout to listen.
We can talk about things
while I shape your words
into something of brilliance in my head.
I will then talk about how
Fibonacci numbers recur in nature;
how Gaia is alive
But we are on a boat that is moving fast,
its wake: waves that crest behind
And I am afraid that if the words
stop flowing from our mouths
the trailing waves will catch up
and swallow us whole.
and then there will be no words,
Only lost breath reaching out for light.
Both will drown in
the silence of straining for air
away, from the drowning depths of loneliness.
Then there will be no words,
only Gaia claiming us for her own