what is it we cannot waken words to say?
where is the fathoming in syllables
that slip too lightly from undone tongues?
is silence then so much lighter
that we may fly the lines
drawn between our two skies
meet beneath the gaze of crows
and under the widening eye of the moon
embrace with a vehemence
no verb would ever convey?
if it is so, then shush, my love,
and enjoy of hush of sentences asleep
steeping deep in dreams unspoken
but take this “I” as dumb token
of implicit affection

© Sarah Whiteley


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