by Abner Dormiendo

What words hide behind the spaces
are better off undiscovered.
This is a chapel of hushed words
where symbols take the place
of what letters fail to express —
it is best not to ruin the sanctity of silence.

But tonight, we excavate.

The first dot, a conclusion, a content resolution
that the stained glasses and statues
will guard us from ourselves.
The space proceeding, a continuation;
a disturbance on normalcy,
a muffled echo within the halls
whose source is aching to be discovered.
The second period implores a contemplation:
search for the ghost that hides
behind the frescoed walls.
The second skip, a realization
that there are secrets buried within our veins.
The third is an opening, a commencement,
a revelation: that deeply underneath
this cathedral of words
are the bones of the things
we have left unsaid.

We could have left it there instead to decay,
but we were stubborn. We dug out
these skeletons; the price: this cathedral
turning to rubble. And beneath the ruins, these
are the only things that remained breathing —

a series of dot, space, dot, space, dot;
breathing in, breathing out —
the exhaling bones, the inhaling pillars.
There is not much to say anymore;
we have resigned to the silence within the dust
that formed tiny ellipses in the air
as if it understood the pain in the spaces
that we have discovered just now
and this is what they told us:

it is best not to ruin the sanctity of silence.