Sunday, December 20, 2009


All the immediate noises die away.
Nothing left, then, but the low,
forceful rhythm
of a faraway orchestra
(a sudden parade)
so distant that you are not sure
if it is real or imagined
so that when, at last,
in the uncertain silence
you hear a whisper
it seems at once urgent and impossible
like a voice in a dream
deep and sonorous
speaking of things
that are lost
or have never been

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