The World Is Too Full To Talk About
There’s something in silence
that sounds almost like a sigh, the hushed
sort people usually reserve for
visits to the art gallery where
they look at the paintings of the Old Masters
and feel important
depending on what sort of people they think they are.
I rather like the silence, that long pause, that space
seeming to whisper some old, sweet longing,
something none of us quite grasp,
as though it’s just out of reach
The longing is everything,
what we already have.