for Carmina and Christian

When the music fades
there is a silence in the soul,
fingertips soften, feet no longer tap
rhythms first felt in the cot. Nights

stretch thin across the bones of argument,
no ghosts of childhood come to reap
their yield of loving labour; strings snap
and the tongue is mute.

© 2001 Estate of Pablo Picasso
Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York

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URL: http://mourne.org/dimuendo.htm