Atelophobia

I am afraid to speak,
my words may dry and
die out in too strong
a Sun. I am afraid
to move, for motion is
sound and vibration and one
may be listening, two,
maybe none, all the same
they are watching, I see them
as vultures, as carrion-
feeders, as scavengers patiently
waiting for waste. I’m afraid
no more, and know, I am afraid
I am no more.

All day, waiting
for something to happen;
nothing happened,
nothing at all.

Did you already forget 
how I am such a mess
and how I start
long conversations with myself
at 1 in the morning
to avoid missing you?
But you stayed, and you chose
to watch and you made me
believe I saw hints
of brilliance in me.

But there, let me cry
for I’m quick of tongue
and some mouths are but muzzles
and musket-fire
and the shots build the rhythm
to this forceful air
that drives even birdsong away — 
you stayed, even then,
you stayed;
know, no more,
no more am I afraid.