Rainy night outside my bedroom wndow, Serangoon North, May 18, 2004, Francis Chin
The word not

The word not spoken
goes not quite unheard.
It lingers in the eye,
in the semi-arch of brow.
A gesture of the hand
speaks pages
more than words.

The echo rests in the heart
as driftwood does in sand,
to be rubbed by time
until it rots or shines.
The word not spoken
touches us as music
does the mind.

Sen. William S Cohen