My hand <br />tries to tell the paper <br /> <br />in quick unkempt strokes <br /> <br />how it was with us <br /> <br />how on a hillside for an hour <br />we spoke only rain <br /> <br />trying to mimic its language <br />before lapsing back into <br /> <br />our human <br />tongue again <br /> <br />how we spoke to the ghosts <br />who surrounded us <br /> <br />the old stones <br />in the graveyard <br /> <br />only able to speak <br />thier names & dates <br /> <br />excited by our kisses <br /> <br />my hand <br />tries to tell the paper <br /> <br />how it was with us <br />but as always <br /> <br />words <br /> <br />fail me <br /> <br />forgive me <br /> <br />my love.<br /><br />Dónall Dempsey<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/my-heart-tries-to-tell-the-paper/
