They say the snake goes blind

while shedding its skin

and in its blindness finally sees.

Do I need you like

the snake needs grass

to conceal itself

as it grows a new hide?

Or the ice needs dust

the pearl, a grain of sand

to form around, a speck

of rust to find another

hand to clasp

a heart to trust?

 

The musician speaks of silence

packed between the notes

the space between the phrase.

May my words long used

as weapons now give your days

the silence of your true self

not yet worn; dying to be born.