He still wears the glass skin of childhood. <br />Under his hands, the stones turn mirrors. <br />His eyes are knives. <br /> <br />Who froze the ground to his feet? <br />Who locked his mouth into an horizon? <br />Why does the sun set when we touch? <br /> <br />I look for the lines between the silences. <br />He looks only for the silences. <br /> <br />Cram this page under his tongue. <br />Open him as if for surgery. <br />Let the red knife love slide in<br /><br />Erica Jong<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/his-silence-3/
