Our selves float and drift on

an ocean of memory,
lives that come before us

In the absolute language between
the poem on your lips and
the blue of the wave
you are the music of silence  
only echo of infinity
the unlikely root of words

I thought I was your captive
Like being struck through the heart, like lightning, like time
That rises away
Past a roof
And slips across
A higher landscape,
A different neighborhood

A silence that exists only in small noises
The humming of birds, the beach, the buzzing of the sea
The luminescence of another world,
the beat of the heart,
dawn and evening;
falling silent snow.

If any of these sounds open
Do they become roads
Become flowers
Behind walls
That seize the original heart
through some alternate pathway, via some underground stream

Night opens
Like stars
And that
Which is like
The sky
Between you and me
Songs of April
Songs of May