Holding Hands

 
Come with me I know precisely which direction to go.
Face to face with the word, never afraid to fight,
I stopped to build a new language. Only for us.
 
I put on my best dress, I killed everyone around
just for a brief moment of solitude with you. ‘Come!’
I said. A strange vocabulary can now describe with ease
the true detail of this abandoned land on which we
slowly walk through the mud holding hands. Silent and young.
And closer to the longest day. The longest, sacred hour.
 
And for a while there was an echo. A prayer.
 
The word, however, did not reply. The word kept still
and winked at me before it jumped off the bridge.