Deaf

I say this from rooftops,

In a ballroom, in pails:

I once heard, in ’90 and ’04.

But also I’ve muted:

I’ve tuned cotton, mimed

the Hallelujah, scrubbed doors,

waxed poetry, even hummed a tune!

Yet my affliction remains silent:

ruptured drums, rapture comes–

so much of me numb

my ears weep for their loss

but doves still cry.

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