silence in a chamber of sibillance
pencils used like brushes
all these shy eager faces
long lashes
wet direct stares
curved bright brows
quiet quiet clean still air
mellow sweat
dry pain
the aging junkie drinks too much
the staring faces are clear and young
the power of a line
the scent of chalk dust
and shiny cement
sounds
dim at first
grow more furious
some concentrate despite all sound
some make their own
most think in noiseless rooms
of wide aperture
endless light
a single face
theirs or his

by Sara, copyright 1999, all rights reserved