There’s a poem I cannot write —
I just don’t have the words.
What lyrics could ever fit themselves
into a silence that lovingly swallows
them whole before they reach an ear?
This song came before any ears,
before any tongue began to move.
It’s a tune we hum together, me and you,
twined sounds from our own silence.
We rhyme — one sound me, one sound
you — it works, it hums, so we become
one singing poem, no longer merely
made-up words, not a thing that one
can hear or not, sing or not, or say
in any way except with silence.
Still, we hum away, not knowing
one song from the next, just tunes
to instantly forget while captivated
by the next – a cavalcade of greatest hits,
played again for the ones we missed.
A poem-song’s humming through us,
not a memory or tingling sensation,
nor refrain from some by-gone day –
just the bliss of what we cannot say,
and yet we say it anyway, the word
that goes unspoken, the same way
we go too, a hum of rest in motion –
the joyful sound of me with you.