You’re Hard to Read

You’re hard to read;

complicated,

multi-faceted,

with cavernous depths untapped

by casual communication,

blotted missive,

dog-eared corners,

obscure references to images

buried in time and place,

needing a good dusting, an

Ephesian library.

What hidden treatise

lurks within your leaves?

You reduce me to an illiterate,

a picture-book primer to your Tolstoy;

what words do I use

to translate you to my heart?

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Chasms Yawn

Chasms yawn between your position and mine.

Insurmountable obstacles,

glaciated fortifications loom,

freezing our chances.

If I dare,

I could don ice-grips

and pull a Sir Edmund –

will you meet me on the summit

with an oxygen tank?

In Knots

My words were draped upon firm postings;

Truth bore them well, so I thought.

They were to be the line  anchoring our thoughts together.

But sounds rebelled, and snarled at a sticking place –

Communication, that rare sighting,

rather than coiling heart to heart,

 tied itself up in knots.

Loops as holding hangers gnarled, and wove

a meaning unintended.

Now whose end is whose?

Where do I begin and you end?

Who is left holding the frayed edge,

and who is the dangling participle?

If you cannot catch my drift

I will float away,

un-anchored and un-caught,

my heart unheard,

in knots.