Caesura

by Abner Dormiendo

What we needed is this: the space
between the inhale and the exhale;

that that separates the words from
the phrases, the sound from the text.

Words are oceans: unfathomable, full.
Syntax, like shoreline, limits, empties.

The boundaries of language:
too much meaning means drowning.

Intervals mean resurfacing;
silence means air. Sand

rearrange in grains, what we call
semantics; comprehension,

the gap between implications.
What I learned about words

leads to this: the sea
and the essence of silence,

that in between the crashing tides
the sea shuts its mouth for recovery.

Give the words room for breathing;
even waves fold after every unfolding.

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