“How are you today?” you ask.

“Feeling” – I say – “the sadness of my flesh.
Heavy today as concrete blocks. 
It’s sand on my eyelids. It’s holes in my heart.
It’s bones weighed down
and muscles mashed. 
It’s an emptied throat and hollowed words.
It’s feet that never move.”

Not that I say this.
Not really.

“All right,” I say. 
“Okay,” I say.
“Keeping on,” I say.

As is necessary.

For pain, like beauty, wears a veil.
Clothes hide skin from all but one fit worshiper 

as words and songs our inmost hearts.