And in this sorrow,
we create ourselves:
faces sketched in dull graphite, erased and drawn again
until the lines are blurred and the edges
of our eyes
are indistinct
and the creases of our mouths
are parentheses, capturing
all the things we never said.
In this sorrow, we are written
indelible and clear
we are paragraphs, connected
We are stories left to tell.