when the line breaks down.

i am tired of seeing you trapped
inside this white frame
watching you move slow
choppily as though you are not quite sure
what motion means
or how it should look
you
who above all had that strange grace
the sudden movements of a bird
and its streamlined sense of shadow
now you sit stark against the black
white and still in the face of it
sending garbled messages
that wound something like love
and sound something like help
i am tired of this glass
that does not even do the courtesy of breaking
while i beat against it
does not even crack
in some pretense of my strength
leaves me stripped of even dignity
as i pound against this silicon screen
screaming for some semblance of skin
against my fingertips

nothing will make this better
i'm done with sending love letters
my heart will not beat again
till i, the frozen, can touch your skin