Voices

Now is time we write dumb poem
A mute and palpable globed fruit
And fruit will not mean but just be.

Let fruit be ,as moon climbs moss
And night is less entangling a tree,
Only voices, with nobody in them.

Moon is gathering  moss on ledge.
Voices come floating on low wind,
But voices have in them nobodies.

And they will not mean but just be.
Voices are dumb unbelievable air,
No-bodies as moon climbs a moss .

(Remembering a poem Ars Poetica BY Archibald Macleish)

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