Music it is.

One can really fool herself into thinking that symbols become the fact. Perhaps it's only the start, but nothing is never better. Not silence but music, someone told me. And the tune that's playing now, is not here to stay. Not lovely yet, but it's there.


Poet congratulates herself on a job well done

And shivers as the last
Syllables vibrate on the roof
Of her mouth

Somebody has yet to wrap
His tongue around her words
Make a present of it

For someone else.



#at