[Every Monday (until I run out of them), I’m posting a poem of mine that has fallen out from the submission process for some reason. In most cases, it will be one where I’ve received no response to my submission for at well over a year or more. Maybe the magazine I submitted them to has folded, the submission was lost in the post, or whatever. So, these poems can be seen as lost, orphans, of uncertain status, or something like that.]
The note is held, there,
in the centre of the still room.
It seems even breathing stopped.
As though that one note
holds all living pulses
within its own bounds.
It fades, slowly to silence
like a snowflake falling
down on warm ground.
Fading, disappearing
and - finally - completely lost.
And breathing returns.
The heart remembers
its own particular rhythm
and blood starts to flow.
I look at you
as you look at me
as we both acknowledge
all notes come to an end
and all ends in silence.
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