I was in texts,
led by a body
through telling and explaining.
Would I be of nothing?
We couldn’t tell about life and vision,
of ways far to a station stage.
I am context, a realisation in my condition.
You mask being a grammar wall,
instructing limitation of repetition and speaking.
That will cannot handle a free life.
Such a place you once struggled,
Written to allow neglecting as an extent to take you sleep.
Devotion becomes the will, preoccupying sleep.
Describing limitation defined by sentences,
Operating style and ability to confront ill
realisation and implementing loss in a letter.
How I can be looking at hands instructing clouded being?
I come to natural conceptualising language of believed loss.
Was everything for you?
So old, so in past pain reason.
Would we mask your vision in work such as stillness?
Fixated will of silence.
An agony of communicating physical security,
an extent of seeing you,
and confronting today with you…
I of all was thinking of moving shared being.
Growing it was simple, such as you were.
It was not will I wanted,
since life was departed as language.