Noon

The tall curtains billow
with presences coming and going, impossible
to confirm.

Whispered voices congregate at noon.

Is there any word from the Lord?
Is there any word from the dead?
Is there any word from the dying?
Is there any word from the living?

The curtains rise and fall like wings.
Is the room about to lift off the earth?

Noon is crowded with voices.

Is there any word from the Lord?

           You were born speaking the language of the dying:
           I want. I need. Not enough. Give me.
           When will you learn the language of the living?

Is there any word from the dead?

           You haven’t changed at all, says my father.

           When you were little,
           each time you learned a new word
           you couldn’t wait to repeat it to me.

           Now you’re old
           and you still can’t wait to talk to me.

           Tell me, has your love of the world survived
           your knowledge of the world?

           You’ve changed so much, says my mother.

            When you thought no one was listening,
            you used to sing.

            When you thought no one was home, you used to dance
             to the record player in your room.

             Now I never hear you sing.
             I never catch you dancing.

             Tell me, do you know by now
              which portion of your pain is self-inflicted
              and which portion is the world’s doing?

Is there any word from the dying?

           Each night you cross to the other side alone.
           Each day with the rest of the perishing.

           Your heart, like any leaf,
            is two shades of green.
            The dark side faces heaven.
            The light side faces Earth.

Is there any word from the living?

           In this world of coming and going,
           the dead disperse to three places:

           the place their bodies are left in quietude;
           the place they live inside us, not always quiet;
           and somewhere they’re not telling.

Is there any word from the living?

          There is no coming and going,
           only turning
           upon an axis spanning
           change at the feet
           and I love you in the eyes.

Is there any word from the living?

           White, white, pretty white curtains.
           White, white, one, two, three, four.