Tuesday, March 29, 2011

Quiet

It's quiet.

And few words slip past to
reach the fingers.

I write only what has
fallen.

Returning to the silence of
this poem.




~
and more than words...but stillness caressed on the
borders of their meaning.
A poem is captured in a shift of
wordless nothing to a subtle
expression of...
This.

2 comments:

Margrit said...

Such refined poetry, dear Eric. Makes me feel the sacredness of stillness where everything has its origin.

Love,
Margherita

A Headless Place said...

Thank you Margherita!

Love,
Eric