Scrabbles

If I could write
I would send you words with borrowed wings
From birds, from insects
To follow you, to find you
To talk to you..
If I could write
I would color the streets you walk trough
In word, not colors
Maybe you'll notice them
If only I could write...
But I'm sitting here alone
Surrounded by nothing,
And all I can make are scrabbles.
You leave and the words hang behind you
In my helpless arms.