Classic Poem

There is a day for me when every footfall
Is quieted as though in snow;
Another day is mine when sounds are waters
That clutch my throat and will not let me go.

The day that comes to wrap me in white silence
Gives me the sound of my own blood to hear,
And frail shadow that moving on my fingers
Becomes too intricately dear.

The day that beats against me, lifts me, bears me
Far out upon the tides of sound that race
More furiously than waters; I am stifled,
And lose myself within the thought of space.