"words are futile devices"

when the water boiled,

she steeped her tea and

watched the steam rise along

with her blood pressure,

and she couldn't imagine

going to bed without talking to you

or having that cup of chamomile.

instead, she let her tea pour out

over her hand; she watched the

pink splotches appear,

and there was peace in the pain

while you remained quite silent.

(title is from sufjan stevens lyrics)