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I want to tell you

how beautiful the train is,

the way its dull silver

obscures the green,

the tree line,

how, if you’re far enough away,

they all just look like

swaying ferns.

I want you to touch

the sweat on my back,

remove the shirt with your

thin fingers and tell me

I’m real.

I want to

be held.

I want to

tell you about the silence

in blue Texas skies.

I’m so afraid to leave.

I want to tell you, Maria,

I was afraid to live,

to love.

Stones and rivers

silence and noise

waves and