i like for you to be still it is as though you are absent and you hear me from far away and my voice does not touch you it seems as though your eyes had flown away and it seems that a kiss had sealed your mouth as all things are filled with my soul you emerge from the things filled with my soul you are like my soul a butterfly of dream and you are like the word: melancholy
i like for you to be still and you seem far away it sounds as though you are lamenting a butterfly cooing like a dove and you hear me from far away and my voice does not reach you let me come to be still in your silence and let me talk to you with your silence that is bright as a lamp simple, as a ring you are like the night with its stillness and constellations your silence is that of a star as remote and candid
i like for you to be still it is as though you are absent distant and full of sorrow so you would've died one word then, one smile is enough and i'm happy; happy that it's not true
i read this as a love poem, but not a love poem a man might share with a woman but with the allness of everything. in the distance between my self and everything there's a space defined by the noise of memory and expectation. my work is to quieten - not subdue or pocket - but to quieten that noise.