Saturday, April 2, 2011

On Learning Of My Mother's Suicide

The silence of God
is a terrible quiet.

A restless wind grown still
in trees encircling

an abandoned house.
Love seeking itself

in a mirror shattered across the floor
- a forsaken archipelago.

A plaintive room with a
chair and an open book.

The house across the way,
lights on, front door open,

the phone ringing
and ringing.


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