The whispers of Centuries
passed down
in code,
such Cellular messages
repeating themselves incessantly
to the same End
There is no time lost
she says
only time deepened
the repetition, of a stutter
a Call,
the re-enactment
of a moment
Nothing is forfeited in Repetition
we repeat the moment
unequivocally,
until we Seize the moment
or don’t
To TSW
In the choice of Rubbing
Wool into Silk,
Saturating it with several Colors
merging in Spheres
as if by Consent,
you give something
of your Substance,
Renders like a piece of you
brushing my neck
a whisper
only, but a whisper
all the same –
*
a Murmur of your person
Murmur
only I can detect,
cherish, as I Wrap
the wool and silk
about my Nape
*
On the point of Departure
you have turned
once more, Winked
as you do
then faced your new Destiny
moving forward
leaving a Thrum
such a coded message
embedded in the Work
of the life you leave
Behind
*
