unsilences reviuquer On Sunday, while driving through Galway on our way back from Ballyconneely to Dublin, with Saoirse behind the wheel, I started this piece. A first draft was done by the time we arrived home. When she drives, she doesn't speak much. On this drive, though, I realized that she does sing and speak with her eyes! I kept asking her every few minutes to just look at me. She seemed a bit puzzled. Once she said "Gosh, Rev, I didn't know the Föhn was blowing today"! I worked on the poem some on Monday and Tuesday. When I read the following version to her last night (3/21 our time) before we went to sleep, she said she finally understood what I was doing on the drive and had become convinced that the Föhn must indeed have been blowing. Then, with her eyes, she kissed me and said "Thank you, Love." So, once again, for Saoirse: Unsilences Those, your eyes, I watch them sing: Dance! Dance! Dance with me! 'till they seem to break; I let them, sure, terribly quake where silences momentarily reign. You look to me - You look You do not mind; You look You will wait 'till we start dancing by the road's side and by the door feel with our mouths the Föhn's pressure fall. At last, blinding shrieks crash Avalanche! Avalanche lily! through hand-hewn, silken roof and walls we conjunctured to hide our molten golden unsilences from lurkers' we'd known long buried now yet still drooling and invecting, and children who'd still not want to learn singing takes reading somebody else's eyemusic. Those, your eyes, once happyagain I read them singing; I fall along when you look: Let us unbreak into a tight, redwhite, shivering, uncoverturing crescendo of shining unsilences. Note on "Föhn": In case posted blathes do not display umlauted letters, please note that the "o" in the word should be umlauted. The word literally means "heat gun." In southern Germany and Switzerland, the word is vernacular for a weather condition, of warm southerly wind accompanied by low pressure, that is thought to cause even sane people to act crazy. C 2000 000321 ... . beautiful 040209 what's it to you? who go blather from