10/06/2010

What We Hold

It's been there awhile,
the half filled hole,

carefully carved insinuating
purpose, a handless glove.

How perfectly it holds
in its velvet curves, silence-

a cushion, a muzzle, space
in folds of a mouthless cloth.

Strange, its patience
mimics the heart as it

waits for something,
anything at all.

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