WRITING THE VOICE

Like a singer who lightens
the most delicate poem
to make his voice heard,
I listen to the repeated murmur
of silence between your hands.
All those who look the other way
know not what they’re missing.
They look at breasts and the air
of masculine desire appears.
They look at the face and the delicate kiss
at unearthly hours.
They look inside and the body
dictates passion unrestrained.
They look at legs and see
how the eyes stroll
in the middle of the face
after an ephemeral rest.
But when you look at the voice
you hear the movement
of breasts, of legs,
of hands and eyes
like a unitary reflection
of the beating of the heart.
The gaze is not elusive
or furtive or contrived.
It is not just any call.
It is not a scatterbrained bashfulness
but calmer than most,
a major surprise.
Someone who tells you
a secret or a dilemma
either with a closed mouth
or with open lips.
Love rarely has
a more profound seal
a more delicate lock
than the one evoked by the throat
when it says anything
with an instantaneous weight
without that being the intent.
At that moment
–tender and delicate at once–
those who hear it
feel a shiver running
down their backs.
But only at times
only at times does it portray
the person on the other side
how the declaration is signed
who makes the pronouncement
because in the tone that it’s said
or in the beating heart of what is heard
appears the eternal struggle
of the silence of things
next to the truth
that no one but the one who listens
can comprehend on the spot.
If you want to fall in love some time
don’t look where everyone looks.
If you want to find yourself alone some time,
with love, for example,
don’t look at how men walk
with their hands in their pockets
or how women do
with a freedom that conceals
their impertinence toward the world.
Look at how feeling modulates
the secret voicelessness of words.
Listen to the profound silence
of the unspoken truth
in the midst of the nature
that makes us most human
in spite of frequently howling
like animals in heat.
Listen to the silence of the plants
in the mouths of birds.
And give thanks with your eyes
when you look elsewhere
and the tongue is what says
what you really think
if they close on the spot.
At that moment
a puff that you still recognize
as someone else’s and that time
will make your own
traps you on the most beautiful side
in secret and with caution.

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