What is found here
can never be formed of words.
Pure forces that mingle uncompared.
Like dreams unspoken when first awoken
by a sad light.
What is found here
can limp with one foot on the curb
and the other on the pavement
in some uneven gait
waiting to be hidden in laughter.
What is found here
can open the swift drifting of curtains
held in mountain winds
when long shadows tumble across like juries
of the night.
What is found here
can always be held in glistening eyes.
Turned by silence's tool of patience.
Like feelings harbored for so long
the starward view has been lost.