Sunday, December 9, 2012

11:27

The strangeness of silence
aligns where No One begins
a rhapsody of unrelenting, redolent
rapture, I call it and keep it
captured to entrance a friend
into cleaving and leaving
an impossible hymn,
this strangeness of silence
I'm impossibly in.

No wonder? No, wander
Wayward soldier and spy
Eye the fair wanderer, eke out her eye.
It is stranger and silence and possible still
To burrow in blossoms of vainglorious hills.

The strangeness of silence
rests a weary, burdened soul
or the window-side bus seat
cold against goose-fleshed skin
thin and impossibly veined
in the strangeness of silence.