swept away

silence spares us 

sweeps with sorghum broom 

before words brandished by hurt 

fly into the face of another 

lays them under the cut pile rug for wait 

under the wraps of reticence 

we protect others and ourselves 

as regret of wielded weapon words 

pins us to the wall 

with the aftermath of eruption 

gathering the dirt and soot 

until the dust bin 

can lean in collection 

and we can see more clearly 

what should be spoken and 

what should be swept to the wind

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