The Music Of One's Love Poem by Mark Heathcote

Curiously, I once heard music
where there was none
this, I perceived when
two deaf and dumb,
young lovers were caught-up
in an all-embracing kiss.
After which they spoke in sign
it was then by my implicit recollection
that I, myself, could, clearly, fathom, understand
each syllable unspoken phrase of intangible air
each tremulous hair
each semaphore wave of their hands
each nuance of eliciting breath they shared
and when I stood there half-frozen silently
I swear I saw their internal beauty
prelude to an almost golden atmospheric light
it shone, oh, I'm sure like the Aurora-Borealis
it invoked my heart's delight
to see that the music of one's
love is deaf and dumb,
but neither is it blind to the heart of its sum.