When did noon ever care enough
to undo the salt? When does
the untasted salt get its right to breathe?
Why do men discover women
in the afternoon when the sun refuses
to talk? How come mistakes are
remembered only in two's and three's?
Where is the light that burns only
when day has decided to sit down and
talk? Here then is the untasted
bit of salt, gathered by men and women
over years and colors of space and
rhyme. Here then is the sight that confuses
the child when she looks at salt and
sees no white. Here is the calm, the noise,
the noise, the noose, the ride, the
choice, the voice.