Writing: Silence ::

1 February 2014

To mark the surface
(in gelid depths trout linger),
to inscribe in point
(mordant bites into metal),
is giving voice to silence.

Etymologies
are wiser than our sayings,
or, distillations
of our perilous knowings.
We write, but we are written.

Long or short, our days
are numbered, start to finish.
We can count on it,
but it will seldom be real
for us, more so for others,

for others we love
as ourselves, in whom we live.
I sit and listen
to the last breath die away.
How quickly her hand turns cold.

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