Making sense

By a process
of elimination
defining who I am
by describing
what I am not

an admirer of the sea
and of the mountains
the hills and the valleys
shorelines I have
walked along

those I have known
those who have
disowned me
colours
at the tips
of my fingers
words
on the tip
of my tongue

chords
from the vocal cords
and yet an inner silence
untroubled by meaning
riffs of affection
curled in a ball
of love

John Lyons