Like a rain I feel but cannot see,
the names of the dead, falling.
Silences I hear between
first names, middle, last
are slivers of empty air between
lines of rain. I want
to be in these tiny silences
that cannot hold their deaths
but join them to all silence —
rests in a piece of music,
the quiet beneath a rock,
the feather on a crow,
beak closed, wings
perfectly still.
From Talking Underwater, Wind Publications, 2007. Posted by kind permission of the poet.
Have you signed up for our on-demand course?
Register before October 2, 2023!
Comments are now closed on this page. We invite you to join the conversation in our new community space. We hope to see you there!