Piece of Advice

There’s just one more thing
I’ve been meaning to tell you.
Just a single unheld grasp of
unimaginable territories.
The cracks in the ceiling
reflect the space between the tiles
in the floor. A child can
point them out, and count them.
This hopscotch marriage will not do.
Just one more blind observation,
the last snowflake in the box.
All this speculation ties you to less.
I cannot unclothe you
for yourself. Every measure
delivers an unstated silence.
Just one more terrible pause
and the cradles will close.
Just take your hands from your face
and briefly say my voice.
The quiet needs signs.