Wednesday, November 8, 2017


Listen. Even this
is a distraction—

just words,
like hailstones disturbing 

the surface
of the ocean.

It won't be be until
every sound finally stops

that you'll finally be able 
to hear the song of grace—

the source of those swelling 
and melancholy waves—

that faintest music 
of a planet slowly turning,

its only lyric transmitted 
as an undulation 

of paralyzing insight—
an impassable question:

what is the real shape
of your face?