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.

Such refined poetry, dear Eric. Makes me feel the sacredness of stillness where everything has its origin.
ReplyDeleteLove,
Margherita
Thank you Margherita!
ReplyDeleteLove,
Eric