Footsteps of Silence in Me


11

starving for poetry, lyrical and suave
hands and lips of wind
heart of water
rhymes of eucalyptus
stanzas of rose buds
camp grounds of the infinite
studded round words of clouds

syntax of born every day anew
ruby paragraphs, I rub my eyes
the sky walks the land
and sunsets dance under this knife
starving for poetry, lyrical and sweet
what can sustain nightfall
clarity of half-open omens

words as light let loose on lost gardens
shivering for self-absorbed moments
starving for poetry, am I alone in this?
hushed fountains of beauty
edges blur, lime becomes black
memory becomes a bare white necessity
writing has made the world more dream-like

less credible, destiny seems just
a music without measurement
in time’s passing through circumstance
I see them outside of me, my life passing
within me, like an architecture of choice
but there is no choice, I am myself the circumstance
I am myself the poetry, and only silence

lines the grown with candles, only she
can extinguish all this, and then she does.