the quiet thinly films over these sheets;
i press my cheek on the pillow — soundless, it hears me.
i rest my dusk-dimmed mourning on quiescent tiles,
and the crickets cannot stand the
silence — it recognizes now the thoughts,
much better than poems can.

i have taken this wordless fall,
hands tied behind my back,
feet tied, tongue-tied
down these sweet, senseless,
daffodil deliriums

i have taken this wordless fall
away, unseen, i land in grace —
this is the last noise i will ever make.