For those Moments

In which there are no words;

When all has been swallowed

By the empty laughter

That rings against vastness,


But not entirely failing,

To fill the unpronounceable thing

You refuse to give a name,

Saving yourself from the grim deed

Of enunciating a clear epitaph,

I am sorry–

As I am sure many before me are,

And many after me will be;

In the knowledge that it is easier to lift and hold,

The mass of weightless laughter,

Than to kneel with your hands and head,

In a sort of obeisance to nameless things,

While trying to hold weighted clear pearls,

Slipping through your fingers,

In a flood of wet beads around your knees.


K.N.O.W. Thursday, August 20, 2015. 15:28 hrs

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