My voice along my tongue
Shaping words, shaping sound
Expelled again by eager lungs,
But changes form and drifts to ground.
In wispy exhales
Turning to vapor, to cloud, to fog
As it crawls silent.
But only smoke and cough
The quiet wheeze of desperation
Falling down, blowing off
Words like trapped condensation
Wandering muted in the dim hours.
I write again; I smother.