There are moments, I know, when nothing can be expressed;
no words spoken, aloud. The failure of language becomes completely exposed,
like the maple tree in my front yard,
leafless and cold.
**
We set such a premium upon the spoken word,
little knowing the history its seen:
Old, black, men on porches
have taught.
Even, in the pause
and taking in of breath,
silence has its place.
**
When my silver-tongue ceases to speak
I’ll take my cue from these:
Bound and boundless
are words.
Only love
can find them.
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