by Jacqui White The immense and far
Knowledge 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. You, alone. 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 at tea.
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