by Jacqui White
The immense and far
as of a tree more ancient than its granite
The knowledge of blanketed tribesmen, silent in deserts.
Locked in a mute oath
you gaze at me
Comprehending the all
Knowing the nothing
but understanding not
how to pass the sugar
or hold a cup.
Is this the look of an idiot?
Or the desperate, ragged glance
of a traveller in the kingdoms of the sky.
I ask as I look,
your impenetrable cloud of pain
cloaking your rigid shoulders.
The answer silences the chit-chat