Saturday, January 27, 2007


We talk.
A mouth in the heart speaks
while the mind falls
like rain into silent pools.

A darkness converses
with its own glossy tongue.
It is a communion
at the summit of words
where symbols
learn to fly.

We talk, in moth flights,
in glowing embers,
in the painted feathers
of choral symphonies.
One single flute
finds its hollow voice
and gives it to You
to breathe through.

We also listen.
We listen
to the whispers and moans
of a bottomless chasm
as it forms a mouth
for words
only the wordless
can utter.