late-August’s sun
graced sandy-pine shadows
lighting upon her hair, windblown
it took me a moment to realize
amid her hazel-eyed kindness
amid the tangle of muddled words
she was deaf
and she spoke, as I listened
still, she’d heard all I’d said
though I hadn’t yet spoken
she locked eyes
a forgiveness, known to be needed
she’d made certain I’d known–
that I’d been heard
somehow, already having learned
those things which exist
in the space
within words’ sprawling emptiness
somehow already knowing
that I’d been rendered mute

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