sometimes words are

not enough,
all there are,
all you need,
more than you have

spilling like water,
filling every space, filling every
space, even space
so small that whole words
won't fit,

but they fit,
and they crowd in one upon the other,
words from everywhere,
words spelled
and said and wished
and thought,

words flying from mothers at children,
from the lost to God,
words in love
in lovers lost in desire,
yes, even those wordless words.

and last words,
lost words,
mumbled across death,
errant words
like Thoreau's

"moose, Indian"

and sometimes,
it is said,
amen