A Still Voice

after Emily Dickinson

photo by Wolfgang Hasselmann for unsplash

If I were—a Word—
A silent word I’d be
Before a speech or after Song
The image—Being—freed.

Trace me in the dirt—
In a moment—wiped away.
Print me on a formal page,
The paper oxidates.

Print me in your heart—
In Passion I’m consumed—
Inside of me no meaning
But what burns into you.

Print me on the Face
Of Leaves in autumn rain—
Speak me—I Am but the Air
The Deaf man cannot hear—

Keep me in the core
Of every beauty born of man—
Become a living breathing Sign
And I am There—again.

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