ON THE OTHER HAND

ON THE OTHER HAND

daylight here
giving me permission to
write whatever I come up with

conscious that the Austrian
did legislate
of what we
cannot speak we
must needs be silent

this itself
being a species of silence

whitespace, words,
you yourself fill
the sound
syllables in
feel how they match
the rhythm

darkness however
(and here so hard to
decide between them)
rejects
silence
in favour of secrecy, mystery
all that
be whisper, middle-of-the-night
to and fro, touch and feel

arabesque
circling the absolute
homing in on fat zero

and,
done with that divine calculus,
invites the light in again
with all
due protocol and
consideration

the love stand-off (some say,
cold war) between them

feels
in my bones
to be too much either-or

sometimes a bit too
sublime, intense, fraught
with havoc
for the sense
of settled taste you
appreciate here