the old poet grows weary . . .
And what if after so many words
the word itself doesn’t survive.
Cesar Vallejo, “And What If After”
So often I have known too much the need
To make words of a place and moment,
To give them human speech even though
They need no language but their own: wind
In the pines, rain in the fields, the hunger cry
Of a hawk or ice creaking in a winter stream,
Love songs of cicadas and passages of geese.
Grant me the wisdom to listen without words,
To hear the sounds of each season's solitude
And to know again the serenity of my silence.
Poetry by countryfog
Read 950 times
Written on 2015-10-27 at 14:49
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