For some things we have channels of pure silence:
Here word and image pass side by side
Like long leaves of thin grass stems in rain
Like huge trees that blend into the quiet of night
Like slow lightning that freezes the monsoon skies
Like the flight of green pigeons against a blue sky
Like the flattened mount of clay and sand
What is else to remember but the sadness that darkens all?
Cleopatra. Cleo, our muse.
Each time the heart recalls your name, your eyes
We look this way and that
Forgetting the distance between a million stars.
Everything is an after thought
Filled with pain and distraught.
Your last wave of that flowy tail.
Your valediction and the tale trailing our deep silence afterward.
All pain is forgotten in time, I know.
All memory will suffer the touch of forgetfulness.
This is life’s simple truth. The plainness of reality for us humans.
Each of us know this, but we carry our precious pain
In an eternal present. You have eased into memory.
I saw the light go out in those pearly eyes.
You taught me to love and to treasure each moment.
The spectrum of silence that now veers between red and blue
Is hastening toward red; all things move from all others.
And it is the light that has gone out of our eyes.