There’s a world in silence,
like that of a poem
insistent upon a page.
The silence of a dictionary
that flirts with anyone.
The silence of a question
from yesterday’s photograph.
The persuasive silence
of dust in an empty house.
The desperate silence
from a mirror’s truth.
The expressive silence
that could be the voices
of you and me.
Gordon Scapens
Penwortham, Preston
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