12-05-2024, 12:58 AM
A feathered silence
(Silence, what silence?)
caught by the cup of your shoulder
and poured through the perforations
in my cradled hands,
At last finding rest under the couch
where we can find it come other time.
A rhyme and a ripe Bartlett fruit
hardly remind me;
But something in their
lofty sweetness
does--it's hard to deny.
(Silence, what silence?)
caught by the cup of your shoulder
and poured through the perforations
in my cradled hands,
At last finding rest under the couch
where we can find it come other time.
A rhyme and a ripe Bartlett fruit
hardly remind me;
But something in their
lofty sweetness
does--it's hard to deny.