The grey of old cedar

Squeezing every drop from why
As I wring the answers out of you
Asking the questions
Whose answers I can’t bear
And I bite my lip
To keep my tongue
From forming contradictions


What you believe
Compared to what I see
There are worlds between them
The journey so long
I’d be dead
Before it was one tenth done
We sit so close
Our hands could clasp
My cold fingers
Gathering in your warm palm


You know
Disappointments have weathered me
To the grey of worn cedar
But even old boards can be salvaged
Made beautiful and new