She need not say anything for her to be heard.
Likewise, her tongue can paint a mysterious masterpiece on the canvas of only a single word.
The way a memory shouts a whisper
To its recollection, down a crowded hall.
Spoken words, chiseled with sharpie
On each one\'s heart wall.
As dreams, they seem to fade fast.
Smeared and smudged by familiar strangers
As they \"happen\" past.
Her ghost once said to mine nothing more than... \"Hello\"
And then they held hands and danced
While leaving invisible footprints in drifts of melted snow.
Raymond Atchison