Envy under the "L"
In the dark and train-loud air
I am envious of the hands
Of a deaf-mute speaking there
Words that silence understands:
Words that have no breath of being
From the warm and actual throat,
Like a blind eye bent on seeing
What, in this sad street, is not;
Words that travail with the wind
In a moon's eclipse of space,
Said from still lips, but imagined
In the drama of a face.
Structure
12 lines · 1 stanza