For Linda

where do I end a stanza which re- creates when we visit that silent space in classrooms and church halls when our only real subject was time your voice is the same intervallic lilt your eyes still swim me into inspired thoughts made eternally Mediterranean when I hear your experience becoming a madrigal within me though I long to know that sadness from many decades past within you I cherish your silences there are moments when with you your story rises inside my heart like a medieval strophe long retained music within your self rises and I listen no need for instruments time -a cistern of our spaces is not our loss songs we sing apart are in harmony their intuits indelible

Diane Stevenson Schmolka
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