S p o k e n a n d U n s a i d
Skyways. Airways. Pathways to Spain.
We came in innocence and wonder
landing in what imagination had no calculation for
so startling was it to the eye and the mind
seeking to compress it all into a letter from Andalusia.
That failed – as perhaps this will
even so the attempt is made to share
a little of that wonder:
night noises on the terraces of the Sierra Nevada
the poems attempted and jettisoned on the same breath
the light about which the night-moths gathered.
And will there be no end to it?
No end to what needs to be said yet having no way to say it?
So it is that I send this absence to you
to show it was lived through and loved,
that what can be said and what cannot
conspire to the same end
this end, this mesh, this fragile form, this spoken and unsaid.