This appears in a pre-2010 issue
of Down in the Dirt magazine.
Saddle-stitched issues are no longer
printed, but you can requesting it
“re-released” through amazon sale
as a 6" x 9" ISBN# book! Email us for re-release to order.
How much is missed within the breath
of whispers, the silence that precedes
confession; obsession, an endearment lost
in translation somewhere between the movement
of my lips and the delicate shell of your ear
Never able to hear clearly--the vowels turning
themselves inside-out, tumbling through
consonants, parts of speech clouded,
misunderstood, facial animation of strangers
never matching tone of voice; communication
avoided
I try, carefully, sounding words into your
ear--the hum and hiss of tongue and whisper,
syllables and sibilance curving through
canals, scrambled sounds the membranes
cannot grasp; sense cannot adhere
With timid patience, my eyes, my touch finds
a place where words cannot reach, someplace
you don’t need sounds to know meaning; the
push of breath and heart beating, the last
measured tones, gentle rippling of overturned
stones beginning to break surface, to hone
realization, a quiet revelation; a spark,
a flash of bright light in your eyes to guide
us further down that road...
Tonight, there is a sun rising
somewhere near the center of you
