SILENCE

What does it mean; who does it wait for?
A tongue at the gate makes no sound
in the farthest room, though the women
listen. They spread themselves
like honey on a thought of bread
and lick their starving fingers. Why,
even now they raise their wrists for the ropes,
as if to count their blessings. They know
pleasure and how it comes after pain.

We do not know their secrets. The windows
are alive with darkness.

Let us go in.

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