On my tongue are many sadnesses, so
when you can hear me, I try
to be silent, I try to keep such
things from you because I want
for you to be happy,
because I believe that these skies and
the heavy sun that warms them
depend upon your heart to
stay so lighted, and surely
my voice can issue only clouds,
perhaps carrying rain, and
tales of legendary misfortune—
things that I must keep from you
so that you may continue to
glow, so that in your eyes,
(which are the vessels of night)
the dawn and its treasures, and
the brass hues that are among them,
can shine.

by d. frost