Speechless
Who cares about the silent moon? The moon
Is always mute. She sends her messages
With light alone. She swims, a songless loon,
Producing soundless, runeless presages
Of things we wish to hear but cannot dream
Without the inspiration of the chord
That interplanetary space would scream—
If it possessed the voices of a fjord
In sufferings of a deep-cliffed Edvard Grieg.
The sun, though, roars away without relief,
Shouting words like “Der Holocaust” und “Krieg,”
Inverse to quiet depths in coral reef.
We parted. Our Sun became two dwarf stars.
The separation made two slit-throat scars.
“to where the sun is speechless” ~ Dante, Inferno, Canto I, l.60