The words are
infinite
even to say the simplest thing
(To express — to speak — to tell)
And yet
of infinite choices no one is equal.

And how should one predict the heart
so flighty
so fickle
to know the words which soothe
from those which will inflame?
I thought I knew.
I thought I knew.

I didn’t know.

The tender words I crafted then
that I willed caress his wounds
pierced his heart.

And he walked away, in his heart
a hole
where had been
humanity.