New poem

Just wrote a new poem. Called …

The Sound

Thumbed pages turn under our fingers
but there is nothing to do to stop the flow
of the river flowing through the afternoon
together teaching each other
new names for the weather

Spelling out verbs for the sake of making sound
whispering loudly and calling over a waiter
with just the right gesture

Intact and alert
vagrant stupid
avoiding yesterdays
and divining definition
for tomorrow

Infinities grow in the distance
between the first sounds
and the end of all sound
the first light at the dawn
and the last one to go out at dusk

I think it is right. It is about the thing that clarifies meeting someone new – it is all sorts of signals – but the sound is what we think. It carries such meaning, the way we speak to one another.