Scripted Silence

In the DMV line, the air thick

with tired breath, stale hopes.

I thumbed through old photos, quick

as a thief, on digital ropes.

And there you were. A ghost in the glow

of the screen, a half-smile caught.

The words, all those words I know

by heart, the battle I fought

a hundred times, in my head,

before I slept, when I woke.

The perfect confession, I'd said

it so often, it nearly broke

free. But it stayed, a dry, small stone

behind my tongue. Mine, all mine, alone.