Broca's Puzzle

Cobwebs of modernity clung

to dutiful machines. Yet ailing,

the steady hills of heart

brings relief to the distraught.

Sleepy static coursed through

my veins, unaware of consciousness.

Each limb held firmly in place

by the venom of my recklessness.

The words fumbled on my tongue,

searching for sticky cohesion, failing

to sharpen clarity’s dart,

our string no longer taut.

You stood amongst the few,

absent of my consequence.

Sorrow etched the lines of your face,

wearing our grief like a necklace.