103 We don't say words in our silent movie. The words are scrabbled under our feet On flowing space across the frozen screen -- We only open our mouths to music. The music ties all things in one long sentence. The moving things are taking words away. I do not hear your words -- I see your face With the convulsions of the bass and treble. We don't paint colours in this silent movie -- All things divided into black and white, Cut by the gestures of the pantomime, When we engrave in music our movements.


Confined Verse
Collected Poems