01-08-2011, 05:30 PM
People always say that silence is golden-
As if it were some sort of ore.
Could you see us mining it?
Tractors hauling earth by town libraries,
The rhythm of jackhammers about forests,
Astronauts, swinging their picks
In search of the sacred metal.
Who knows-
I might find some nuggets myself.
Perhaps the dead fly on my windowsill
Is hiding a pebble between his wings.
We’d wear jewelry of silence, too-
A blacksmith would whisper over a bar
And watch its melting liquid drip into a ring-
Meaning, we would propose with silence.
I’d spend all of my savings; present my lover
With the stillness of an Alaskan mountain
Crowned by the hush of birch branches.
As if it were some sort of ore.
Could you see us mining it?
Tractors hauling earth by town libraries,
The rhythm of jackhammers about forests,
Astronauts, swinging their picks
In search of the sacred metal.
Who knows-
I might find some nuggets myself.
Perhaps the dead fly on my windowsill
Is hiding a pebble between his wings.
We’d wear jewelry of silence, too-
A blacksmith would whisper over a bar
And watch its melting liquid drip into a ring-
Meaning, we would propose with silence.
I’d spend all of my savings; present my lover
With the stillness of an Alaskan mountain
Crowned by the hush of birch branches.