braille

if i could not find the space where
your story lies
i would pray it would reside somewhere
in the lines of poetry that curl from
your face like sweet memories
and i would read you like a blind man
searching for directions to the source
of your laughter or the language to
articulate the riot of metaphor that
sits quiet on your face
somewhere your name will skip from a bro
ken record and lovers
will learn to dance to a new melody in your honor.
how will anyone ever forget your
name again
when they have learned to waltz to a
break beat of your image.