Wiped

All that talk wiped out.

All the words left looking at each other

as if they have no memory of where they came from

or what they are doing here, before

they shuffle away, backwards.

The sound track of a life switched off, leaving

only this,

the low hiss of rain on windows,

electric things on standby, humming slightly,

the no noise that is deafening,

the absence on a page that reads

like ice.

Through the frozen sheets

the mouth opens to speak.

The face breaks.