Poem Hunter
ME (15 June 1944 / Canterbury)


There and unknown; unknowing. This one
this moment is. There
and she does not know it. She is.

The man moves from his loneliness
toward her. She looks ahead,

her gaze, steady and confident. Her eyes
affirm the day. He cannot share it, sensing
that her lips betray, this confidence.
He reaches out to touch

her face, her lips tremblingly apart;
a silent fear disturbs
and beautifies. There are no words.

(She, he, wait for the mystery
to reveal itself) .

The touch. Words dropp their silent veil.
“Amen”, she says, discovering the word.
“Thank-you”, he says, discovering their power.
Together theirs is praise: separate and one.

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