You have
a fountain.

Pure sound
gushing out
the smallest
silence
imaginable.

Your eyes
trickle slowly
down
the slope
of words.

One chord,
then a pause.

You sail
alongside
the stream
of sounds.

The heaving
of meaning.

This piece
of sound
has already
crossed
the bridge.

It is now
sweat
on your
brow.

It is now
salt
on your
tongue.

It is now
again
silence

leaving a taste
of earth
in your mouth.