The word we use for love
is nothing if not shared.
The word we use for forest
lies quiet without our footsteps.
The word we use for sunlight
darkens without our eyes.
The word we use for magic
makes mystery only chance.
Our pens work themselves on paper
stolen from white birches.
We think letters from distracted minds
and try again to find the Holy.
But wait. Put down the pen.
And sit beside me without words.
Between us now
is everything we need to know.
Collette SellCollette Sell is blessed by the generosity of author and coach, Judyth Hill; poet and editor of Tiferet Journal, Donna Baier Stein; by Abby Wasserman at the O’Hanlon Center; and workshop teachers at The Grotto, San Francisco’s esteemed gathering place for writers. She is a member of San Miguel PEN and has read there as well at the San Miguel Literary Sala. For years, she wrote only on things that could easily be lost - scraps of paper left behind in abandoned apartments or in the pockets of raggedy coats donated to Goodwill. This will be her first published work.
