The Last Word But Not The Final Breath

Gregory O’Neill

If silence is the last word
let it refuse the tongue of conclusion,
be a comma suspended over the
crevasse of our ears—
overhead the unheard constellations
of distant absences—that memory
may listen for the seasons—
loud as weather. As waves
inflate sand dollars
upon the shore so
winds carry answers that
don’t settle into dust—
but scatter like seeds. 

Tell the air to be a generous pause,
hold patience like a tide—
and practice life as a single
unfinished sentence—
a door ajar, a late laugh, ripples
and secret shortcuts, private jokes—
that whatever ensues the quiet
will hang like many lanterns
along the paths of
those who wander after
just the right words—
the following pen

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Gregory O’Neill
Gregory O’Neill, from Seattle, writes reflective, conversational poetry about the canny, uncanny, the seemingly sublime, the obscure within the mundane, and the emotional physics of absence. Writing appears or is forthcoming in, Four Tulips, The Laurel Review, The Mantis Literary Journal, Jackdaw Press Review, The San Antonio Review, Route 7 Review, Relief Quarterly, New Feathers Anthology, Litbop, Eunoia Review, Paraselene, Cathexis NW Press, Words Faire, Zoetic Press, Last Leaves, Gabby & Min’s, and others.