Mute

Whatever was the world

Lost the space in its own eyes

With waters still and sparkling

Against the dread of dark sides

An edge – a blink of time

A hind of the future that finds

Unmasked bits and traces

Remains of hidden viewslides

Feeding the sight of earth so fast

With the breath on galaxies fed

Worn in star like dresses in shreds

With  threads too tied wedded to webs

To the fingers feverish that now remove

The layers of lie dust laid on words

With a single truth unuttered to prove

That no balm is made of spoken hurts