poem a day #2

MANOS RISING

I'm trying to find the word
for the kind of desperation no one wants:
It should have Germanic roots,
the kind that wedge themselves
between rocks and the black earth
where no light will ever reach, three
syllables or more and ending
on a soft stress
because it wears you out
to speak it.
But all I can think of is
time remembers meaningless gestures and
your goodness will not be forgotten
while I am still alive.
And I regret putting them in the
situation, making them
suffer so.