This poem is taken from PN Review 17, Volume 7 Number 3, January - February 1981.
In The Silence*
The spoken word of God is God's own word
Hark, how it echoes! I hear nothing now
The age of crucifixion past, the resurrection
Shows up for what it is and all of us
Sit around waiting like the workhouse poor.
**
Silence the word, for silence is the word
Without which speaking is impossible
And who said nothing never is or was:
...
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