SONATA #32

I pull into my own silence, alone
at a table in the corner: voices buzz
and ice rings like Tibetan chimes, remote,
removed from the remainders of my lunch.

I brush the crumbs from the words that fall across
this yellow pad; a splash of tea removes
a phrase I thought the best — it’s no where now,
a part of the larger silence of the room,
hovering, waiting for someone else’s pain.
Perhaps one day I’ll read it and exclaim
how close it seems, something I wish I’d said.

Hardly aware when someone calls my name,
blinking and staring as if I’d stepped from the dark,
hastily I put away my words.

From SONATA SONNETS (1997)