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The Story of Silence

Because it has not turned out how I dreamt,
to lie against another’s backbone in the dark

listening to the suck and blow of their dolphin breath,
I return to the edge of sea, sky and land,

where dawn is washed by rain-soaked night,
to reveal a tattered wedding veil of mist

covering the morning’s face.Far from the city’s buzz and blur,
the constant ticker-tape of news,I am postulant to the weather-god,

genuflect to the pull of tides,whisper rosaries to a glassy moon,
and great Atlantic storms.At break of day I light a beeswax candle

so, solitude becomes a formof holy erudition,
the I an eye, before I mergewith the savage silence.

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