Fragile as a crystal figurine upon a glass shelf,
you sit in a wheeled world muttering 
indistinguishable mutations of speech;
drool incessantly seeping toward the contorted form
involuntarily swatting at invisible flies.

Kneeling beside you, I am ashamed of my normality 
and the piteous babble that fills my mouth with a
stench as gagging as your bile bag.
A conversation built of nodding replies quickly
degrades to silence, our eyes signaling to each 
other like ships across a vast sea; the light
within them born of the same father.
Mine fill with tears as yours fill with the 
forgiveness of understanding.
I will run for you. 
I will sing for you 
and wipe the drool from your face.

--

Tony Spivey
Copyright 1999