Thursday, January 17, 2013


At times like this there is nothing I can offer you
but my silence and attention.

If you knew
how much I wish my voice
was softer
or my movements
like the mare's neck
like swans

you'd see both
honey and dung
in my eyes

the hope of refinement.

Because gentle is not proud, but good
and worth having.
And worth giving to one
who waits so patient
with hands folded.

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