Poetry today shows a strong inclination towards silence

You were my death:
you I could hold
when all fell away from me.

-

Your face quietly shrinks away
if suddenly
there is lamplike brightness inside me,
at the point where most painfully one says, No.

-
THE ALREADY-WRITTEN hollows itself,
already-
the
spoken,
sea-green, burns in the coves,

-
The weightless,
so weightless
Rings
of souls.

a fond adieu, JD.