Some Things Are Hard to Say

I often think how fair you were, ten years ago
before my life was cut off at the neck,
when we could walk on beaches, touch each other
and lie together --

now I find you with me still, and just as fair,
shining through the darkness of my pain

yet when I try to stammer out my thanks
my usual ready flow of words is stemmed,
a stream that's dammed by fears like rocks
that choke it at its very source,
and make my soul curl up like some small beast
in mortal fright, exposing almost nothing
of my feelings --

and most of all I cry inside
because I would but cannot tell you
that I die a little every day
because I fear
that you may leave me...

© David Nourse 2011