A Word.(Poem)

 
   No, nothing weightless like a soul 
   Can possibly exist, except as just a word, 
   Nothing that one can't see or touch 
   Like someone's eyes or someone's face, 
   Though words, it's true, are more than random noise 
   Like aspens in the wind, and live a life inside 
 
   In which the mind observes itself inside 
   Itself, so if that's what you mean by "soul," 
   Well, that's a better use for breath than noise, 
   And sometimes when I'm looking at your face, 
   Trying to peer into a place where touch 
   Can't reach, that weightless word 
 
   Leaps lightly into mind, a word 
   That knows how not to die, as if it had a soul 
   To call its own. I have to face 
   The possibility this word--refined from noise, 
   The hiss of matter in the universe, the touch 
   Of fields and forces each inside 
 
   Some humming swirl of whirling dust inside 
   More whirling dust--has named itself into a soul 
   That needs no features in its face, 
   Hears harmony beneath the noise 
 ...