Between the page with the heart
and the mind wrestling upon it,
and the ear which later will receive
those limbs of light as perfect harmony,
there’s a stillness whose volume speaks
worlds of words defiant of measure,
treasures of the unsayable,
secrets of the ever-beginning enchantment
and the never-ending gathering
at the lips of the kiss of the poem.
From All That’s Left. Copyright © 2008 by Jack Hirschman. Used by permission of City Lights Publishers. All rights reserved.