She hardly speaks
Her words, very taciturn,
Like shy sunlight touching a cracked column
Her husband says her words are dried whispers
Ignorant and meaningless like the ramblings of a toddler

Her husband sits in a big swirling chair
With a frilly cabbage head
Holding a mouthpiece filled with loose straws
He says her words are shapeless structures, a colorless shade, passionless gestures, ignorant forces, paralyzed actions

With time, her voice grows distant
As the fading star
Now her voice is cloaked in designed disguises and practiced pretenses
Absence of her words
Sabotages the scenery of her memory

She avoids overflowing speeches
Her words gather around timid subjects
Words grope together to form only necessary communication

Once her words were full of ideas…
Reality and Response
Creation and Conception
Existence and Essence
A collage of youthful words
Her potent words

Those same potent words…
Are reduced to the whimperings of a used property
Are the remains of scars on patient flesh
Are the migration of birds signaling the coming of twilight
They are silent words draped over bleeding feet