In this old cabin where neither person speaks
one word to the other, there is no intention
of sparking conversation. There is no sincere
invitation to tell the other about a key-and-lock love.
Her eyes are dull and lifeless. Her words are as repetitive
as the back-and-forth sound of her rocking chair,
as the motions her hands make while she cross-stitches
her life into pictures no one else will understand but him.
His eyes are empty. His words provide no gentleness,
no tender love, nothing to spark her back to life.
His rough hands rub together, but he has forgotten
how to take hold of her hand, how to make her happy.
In this old cabin where neither person lives,
where the key and the lock no longer work together,
where words are said but have no feeling,
there is little left to say but goodbyes.
June 25th, 2012
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