the hushed exhibition

she doesn’t speak in words
so I listen to her touches
pique my ears to her gentle strokes
I watch her eyes alight
in pastel hues
splats of character
on an otherwise empty slate

she doesn’t speak in words
but her presence overwhelms the room
she is deep sea green, light lavender,
maroon
she is licks of ember, sleuth-like sap
all the colors you could ever know
all the colors you could ever imagine

she doesn’t speak in words
she is beyond phonemes, grammar,
punctuation
she lives beyond the borders
of semantic comprehension
her home a thicket untamed

she doesn’t speak in words
there is no map to follow
just the droplets I listen for
just the feints that linger

editors note:

A mute muse to tease a thirst for more. – mh

Leave a Reply