Silands

These are places where people live.
There are spaces where people can't breathe.
Swift scenes on screens of crowds give us the idea
That we've seen more of the world
Than it has of us
With some sort of spectral silence,
Like the moon about to bounce on our round horizon lines.

But what's in a silence?
Your face, somewhat blurred
Full of questions for asked answers
To letters you never replied to.
Your silence fills my head with echoes
Imagined, unforgotten.
Lapses, like all the angles you'll never see of me:
In the mirror, changing my hair, laughing heartily,
Discovering the world.
It is a fantasy.

There are islands and mainland always just ahead,
For we are navigating our way like magicians from this place.
Who knows where or what we are or were
And who knows the symbolism of rabbits.
Silence.