December 13, 2010

Coda

Of the secret Word of
Silence, even our mother
tongue does not let us
speak, except by turn-
ing us away. Our true words.
The words never spoken
are here. The words that do not
inhabit a voice resounding
in the air, are here. Read
as if they were not sus-
ceptible to any pronun-
ciation, mutely transmitted. By
the eyes. Passing over the
taut string of gazes, they can
stretch to infinity. Touch-
ing no lip, passing over
no body, the clarity
alloted to words.
Only absorbing the light
of the pupils. Through the eyes.
The true words that connect
us, never reduced to these
sounds; we see them dis-
tinct, their forms appear
clearly. The words that
shine in the pen-
umbra whose meaning sparkles
through one of those rad-
iant days, neither timbre nor
melody, which remains always
the words, these words here.
Intention to divulge them;
but impossible to recount
them in a language that
is entrusted to the voice; perhaps
with numbers they resemble
them a little, although un-
pronounceable, Word of
Silence.

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