Make do with no language where none will do
and pay attention to be born of silence
Perhaps the colours of your heart have flared
and laughter ended, tears paused in falling -
little glass tears smashed with a single note
high behind your hearing.

Turn in to the silence when silence is due,
and pay attention to what's borne by language
Maybe the connection between your bones and thinking
have all been severed, thought curved in thought-time;
frozen high above the arctic, a single memory -
London dormitary town.

Watch the brawling filth like a picture
from a world you're not involved in,
that you only imagine. Draw the strong thread
out through the ether, boil it in silver,
moonlight ions in an ancient enclosure,
in a silken, pillow'd mansion.