Sunday, April 3, 2011


He puts his ear to the page and listens for a voice
Nothing is heard or even hinted at
He peels the page, skin by skin, as one would peel the skin of an onion
Not realizing that the voice is merely silent
As if in contemplation
And it never occurs to him to engage the silence
To touch each skin as if it were a revelation
An inexpressible hymn to beauty
That would bring tears to his eyes if he could only hear it

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