Don’t Tell Others What You Think

The crowd bobs like stupid birds.

Your face

approaches the red curtain.

In your eyes the world grows wholly glorious.

But I tell you

glory

is one of the deepest pits.

When so many hands dance and chirp for you

the hall’s a withered garden,

in the breath of your words tottering, rustling.

Remember what I said.

Inside my white pages

I see at once

your eyes gray as a hare’s in a snowfield.

Unforgivable those people

hovering near you,

entwining you.

From your live essence

they crave

their own salvation.

Don’t get any closer.

Don’t step to the rostrum.

Don’t tell others what you think.

Language says nothing.

I grip your hand,

speak into it:

beyond ourselves

no one hears another.

Let me keep you close,

sheering off from glory together,

walking silent

past the frigid crowd.

But all around, waiting

to attack, whose voice.