My mother and I

My mother and I both smash
our words, as we try to speak,
pressed close against
our windowed worlds.
We see each other clearly,
but each is barely heard.
No-one is prepared
to break the glass.
My head aches
from, the fog of thoughts
which stream and melt
and fall; a mist across our vision
no message passed at all.
And still,
my mother and I both smash
our words as we try to speak.