In My Search For A Voice

I have uncurled my spine,
and parted my lips so the well of my throat
might take this grey sheet of rain
and make it my own.

I've undone my shirt,
to feel it on my skin - which I'd also peel off,
if I could, so the wind that rips these leaves
off the hawthorns and sycamores
might whistle in my own ribcage, and sing
like I never could - to these geese
and their brass honks, their drumbeat wings,
the distant braying of a lost sheep on the moor,
and the millipedes sheltered in dancing bracken.

I don't know where geese go in a storm,
or why it even matters,
and I don't care who sees me like this;
if I had a voice I would show you,
and you'd feel it, you'd listen.

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/vandud/z/ic40a9j

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/v68u2t/the_trout/ic46r53