Into the splashless pool of silent losses,

your fine hands.

 

Soundlessly singing,

beating heart-strung gestures.

Keyboard howls.

 

Where’s the dance floor?

Glad hands?  Fake smiles?

Last masked ball?

 

Come to the doorway,

Half lit, moon out.

Talk to me.

 

We’ll be in the lime-light

Beyond this world.

 

Living like condors,

Snow leopards,

In beauty bound.

 

All worlds

In beauty bound.

Your fine hands.

Talk to me.

 

Talk to me,

Talk to me,

Talk to me.

 

 

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