My memories of the party are visual:
photos, faces, continuous white noise video
smiling eyes, gesturing fingers, hands,
nose-to-nose discussions, sipping ideas
in the dim bar, children in a booth
friends, relatives, companions gathered
to celebrate life—it plays like a silent movie
with an underwater sound-track as words
blur into eachotherlikeporridgeheating
I hear everything blending into nothing
viewed through a glass that makes me
spectator viewing a newborn from a hall:
so much potential, so little comprehension;
joy seen, not heard; convictions shaken,
not stirred; unheard song of an unseen bird.
But after, in the retelling, I hear all
in the clarion purity of accoustic halls;
trumpets state the obvious: simple, true;
and I listen eagerly to the party part two.
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