He told me
his last
real conversation was in
nineteen-fifty-five. And that was
thirty minutes
on the sidewalk
with an interested stranger.
Those that love him
respect his silence,
keep him to a fifteen word
maximum. That allows them
to get along. Silence is the juice
of that loving home.
He told me
how he dreamed of
lectures, long and
deep draughts
of speech.
He dreamed of
eyes bright with
the lights from his stage.
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