This poem was written in the quiet room,
words are not uttered, nor ideas harmed,
no symbols convey the shapeless whisper,
observe the poet's lips here incarnate,
the flicker in your eye is her stutter,
your blink...her babble, your tear...her sadness,
what you see is the soul, her reckoning,
her requiem fixed on the final line

cc: CC 2020