Its Sleepy Light Constant By The Glass Panes. Poem by RIC BASTASA

the blind sees more
than you do who blinks
more than what is
necessary, just like the
mute who speaks much
better than us, his fingers
sing, his arms are into
a locomotion, speech
like concrete posts in
highway 50, and so does
the deaf who is into this
trek of rumors, sponge-bob
and moby dicks of the higher
frequencies, ...

how is it that we are
more understood somehow when
we speak less?
heard loud and clear when
we do not listen as
often than not?
how i love you more with
touch rather than speech?
the nod, and the most
accepted wink of your eye
when you say yes and then
the lights are off, and
the moon by the window
softly glistening its
sleepy light constant by
the glass panes.