This, it may be, is one way
That the interstices
Of sound and thought and feeling
When all else is unease
Might be given continuous play.
We would possess
The inexpressibly near,
Stealing
From distance, by formal means,
The unclear,
Immediate, fugitive in-betweens.
This may be one way: for here
The indistinct footfalls
The always half-heard
Coming and goings of the unknown
Will strike the ear.
The intervals
Will be silence speaking, finding
The word
That evokes what might have fled
Reminding
The spirit to listen for the unsaid.
