Too much has been said.
Will
my last breath
Redeem words that were,
when
they understood,
Unfeeling, parsimonious
but voluminous, mellifluous
When I didn’t have a clue
of the damage I could do
Where silent people lived?
How could one be wrong so many times
unless
convinced that he was right?
And think that insight could be held inside a line
like
a shadow holds a branch
When everything’s already known,
it’s
just some children finding out?
Perhaps their smile is not the one
that
says they’re first to shore,
Perhaps it’s just a look of joy
when trees give way
And the vista appears,
But it's a vista that’s so far away
for
what is needed here:
To receive an ice cream cone from someone,
to prove that I’m not what they
say,
To tell what I did, how it happened,
who
I am.
