the language always fails 

even her best attempts 
to convey how he moves 
the wind around 
in the attic where her 
dreams are born…. 

return void… 

the blending of sounds, the marriage 
of consonants and vowels, the formation 
of mono/multi-syllable words, accents, 
punctuation 

still fall short 
of who he is 
how/ 
what he does in that 
space between 
her temples 


inside her house 
there is another stirring; 
evidence of 
open gates, 
embers glowing warmly upon 
her hearth, 
doors ajar 

no forceable entry ~ 

no strangers here... 

but there is no adequate way 
for her to say 

he is the key...