Saying Nothing

it is good to not-say
when you are gone - I live
the odd few days as one
and open my mouth for
no-one, except to explain,
cajole, interject the self
from the silence.  these days
are sun, sun and
no voice but surroundings
of noise as waves of spring
people pass
before my face - and I
can see the silence of
that place, the tinkling
bell, the breathing
grass, the soft gargle
of the water and
the feathered fluttering
of the parasol as the
mountains bake in
the heat,     	and together,
talking, 	we take
our seats.  your voice
is gone and the parting
of my heart by that
blunt instrument of
death, the post mortem
operating on my body
even now, cavities
exposed and 
blood pooling, mind
reeling, in silence
and invisibility
express my loss of
you.  he comes home today
my man, my love my
companion, and I will
open my mouth and
take him in, swallow
his words and in giving,
giving them my
life will open, release
the jarred thoughts and
pent-up disease of
not-being, of silence,
of an open mouth saying
nothing with pain
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