the wall

plastic bags
torn and knotted
on strands of barbed fence
blowing in a silent wind
(yellow glass)
there is a yearning
a feeling
we don't know how to talk about
we haven't moved past loving
and missing
into a deeper something
 it's right there
between your heart and your soul
and it bites
it doesn't want to be named
arbitrarily.
it controls the tears
and chokes us when we try
it leads us to forget and to write about other
clear and sharable feelings
to sing about loss, and warmth
and glitter
it guides us to kiss
to linger in each others eyes
until we are caught
until we pass by
the secret.