A morning moon has opened the door
To endless conversation in the room.
A friend there never went to a beach
Laid up with lumbar pain and slip disc
In an old city's backstreets, the beach
Conjured up by a cruel face book error.
The conversation went on without words
With listeners, who only looked at lips.
Moving lips seemed to say a thing or two
And the lip readers promptly looked away
From pain presumed by friendly concern.
It is the silence of this conversation
With a great lip reading that has stirred
The morning moon, preparatory to crows,
But just a transient thing in the balcony
Before the crows start a day with the sun.