My words are so small

They have the habit of slipping 

Under the floorboards

Almost impossible to retrieve 

Like rubber hair bands, or sewing needles

Or 1 pence coins

Hardly worth a thing

 

And I watch baffled 

As he spends hours poking coat hangers and

Shining torches through the floor

At my dusty words

Until he finds them

And holds them 

So tightly, so softly