I think you have come to sit here before me
for a little while, to look at me and expect something.
(Don’t worry, I expected it too - something).
I don’t know who you are, or perhaps I do.
But maybe I’ll be sitting here for years to come,
when you have come and gone a thousand times,
and my words have chipped away at each other
until they and I are piles of nothing beneath nothing
And my speech will be the silence.
