Where Do the Words
Where do the words come from? Not from the sea
Smothering its secrets in crab holes,
Whispering its lays as a single hiss
Of thoughtless spill.
Not from that tree
Cliff bound, weeping its olive tears
Into limestone wells, a mouthless mourning
Of silent will.
And not from me--
I study both and try by mute gaze
To stay a passing soul who, hearing no name,
Descends the hill.
