Passion is inferred by what isn't said.
Absence will be valued by the one who notices first.
Pleasure can be ranked by all other thoughts kept out.
Fatigue is always spoken in a narrow range of voice.
Wars are justified by the troops who didn't die.
Progress is best measured when sleep shuts out the rain.
Fidelity is most natural when the ear believes in pressure.
Hunger is most keen when the menu spreads like ice.
Will takes up its post when the mind is bent on territory.
Resolve will turn to weeping when the curtain falls at last.
Lapis cracks but slowly as pearls are ground to dust.
Medicine's no specific unless the alternative is rust.
Sacrifice can have no meaning if the witness turns away.
The field is only battle when the mess hall shuts its doors.
Wind brings down the enterprise, no matter our delight.
The crowd moves toward the exit when the puppet master speaks.
We put our shoes on standing if our beds are board and brick.
We search the web for meaning if our dinner table's bleak.
A life's measured value is who didn't come to call.
Noise can best be noted by the silence afterward.
Death can have no meaning. That's what we learned in school.
Your going into silence is the thing we can't endure.
Whatever comes will come. Leaves are flying in the cold.
The flocks about their maps. The cord wood in the frame.
We've made the best we can of the absence and the void.
The furniture of living's exquisite. Believe it. Say no more.
Keep all the curtains open. In the window flies the snow.