Because I have known the space between thoughts
known and endured terrible silences
I keep quiet. I say nothing.
Find myself walking around the house in a coma
the right hand held in the left.
The moon watches, sitting in the window like a child eating crackers.
I want to be a happy man but if this house won’t cooperate
I will leave it!
I will wind the arms of the sky around my head and I will leap
into the subtle body of my soul!
When I become whole, I may never speak again
or I may speak for the first time of my secret visions
of my memories of angels in the cornfields
of the light around my Grandma’s coiled and braided hair
of the green flames of pine trees.