Pour

Between conversations
And deliberations, loomed a pause
Pregnant with your silence
Because you filled it
With the fruit of your mind
As if it were nothing but
An empty vessel to receive and collect,
Like an aqueduct
Pouring life from one page
To the next...
Giving shape and form
To an idea you stole
From the lips of the lady
Who stole your lover...
Like an empty house
After the residents have moved
To a brighter habitat,
Leaving behind the ghost
Of forgotten laughter
And secret escapades--
The ideas left your mind
And poured out on paper--
Sepia and solid
Like old photographs
That hide in attics...
They became a tangible work of art,
To live and to give birth
To other pregnant pauses
So that silence may turn into art
And truth may turn into fiction...