Over the great divide

Over the great divide, her voicelike a neighbor you neversee, and know exists only by wayof rituals of the day, the answeredphone, the nervous laugh, that soundof sign you know means somethingshe must decide. You need onlyto see her face once to put aface to the sounds when they riseand fall on the far side -- smiles,frowns, grimaces, all painted onfrom memory and imagination --all is the need to see what shesees having seen so little is toforget what color her eyes are,if other than a reflection ofthe blues her voice brings, lookingcan always lie in ways hearing doesnot, the south of truth ringinglike church bells might in thisunholy place we both mustoccupy day to day -- sound hasechoes but no shadows, and itsshades reveals more than it hides, giving shape to feel she mightnot otherwise disclose -- we needno lips to read, though wesee these too as we hear her breathe--this place shaped by her soundscape, by her imagination, by whoshe is and what she has to say