A Clumsy Poem

Trying to write you a poem

is hard.

I’m twisting into shapes

         to dodge cliches,

to find the perfect

            arrangement of words

that will honour you

without giving too much away.

(this is important)

(this is how we touch)                  

One misplaced metaphor

could break my neck

          like a brittle twig.

Already, it should be prettier

than it is.

This isn’t the place

          for fractured bones,

            or frantic scribbles

            over mistakes.

See, now I’m doing it again.

I blunder around you with my pen.

Oh, look at what you’ve made me.

Rendered powerless  

        by your indescribability.

I’m floundering in the deep end

of language.

Nothing I write will capture

        the velvet of your voice,

         or the way you make my day.

But perhaps the thing

                that says the most

is not the absence of my words,

but the notion of my speechlessness

being you, taking them away.