CK Tower

	body remembers that life and cries for
	the lost parts of itself..."

Yesterday there weren't any words for rain
murmuring to pavement, or the sway of street
fluorescence dancing inside a dozen
tiny lagoons, each one pooled over
a gritty black ribbon. Seven hundred

days without a voice and an ear for song,
and it was nothing but the irrelevance
of one rough surface enticing water
to sing a mizzling cadence, or the wet
breath of midnight exhaling an opaque

melody into concrete silence. One
or both reminded me how a body
can hunger for half-forgotten lyrics,
how after seven-hundred silent days
words can be found in dark measures of rain.

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CrossConnect Incorporated 1996, 1997
Published in association with the University of Pennsylvania Writers House
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