A couple of hours into writing from memory
I begin to think I want to say a little less.
Centred halfway between noon and sunset,
drowsily staring through imaginative riffs,
I assume almost for an instant that I can hear
a butterfly nod its tiny head in my absence.
Allowing distraction, with an insatiable curiosity
I grasp the handle of the door and run out –
right away I catch sight of its inscrutable smile.
There's something about its free-floating grace
that obliges me to say hi – but nobody answers.
. . . . .
One line at a time a silence is redirected elsewhere as the eyes
step away from a brief moment touched by lightness.
. . . . .
Silence is exhilarating at first – as noise is – but there is
a sweetness to silence outlasting exhilaration, akin to
the sweetness of listening and the velvet of sleep.
– Edward Hoagland
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