Perhaps I was born at the end of an eclipse
right as the moon turned to pictures and
dissolved away in the eyes of progress
I used to walk these shores
endlessly lost, with hours to kill
collecting sea shells and dreams
She smiled at me, nude in my dreams
pure as the ocean and clear as a shard of broken glass
I had nothing to do
but remember the world
dressed in bright metaphors
My eyes turned feverish red
she was drunk on satisfaction
and the stars really spoke in poetry
Right then, at the end of the eclipse
when the moon dissolved
in a bright beaker of progress
Science came about
in a prism lens
and burned my dreams
A speeding automobile
hit my knees
and now I walk with a cane
Far away in a distant land
she sleeps, clothed and silent
almost as if she is absent
These days when dreams arrive
I chase them off my sleep
with scientific equations
And pretend to find
precise directions
on colorful maps
“Silence is the absence of words. I feel that words have failed me because I am being filled up by them. I silently walk the narrow streets of the old town, leaving words behind as if they were falling from a long evening dress that I might have worn and never did.”
