I came not to compose, but speak with thee,
where silence kept what speech could not command;
thy listening entered into mine, and we
became one utterance no tongue had planned.
No ornament I sought, nor garnered phrase,
but waited where thy meaning touched my own;
and what passed wordlessly between our gaze
made music of the silence we had known.
Then thought, relinquishing its sovereign throne,
stood bare before thee, neither shielded nor
adorned; and from that unpossessive zone
there rose a cadence neither thine nor mine—
our silence, finding form, became the line.
Saw it leaving
as vividly near to me
as my own senses were.
Free of curiosity,
It had become
So unpossessive
Of true poverty
Nothing is lost
To yourself,
which holds all of it for a moment
and lets it go, serenely
without judgment.
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