and two poets greet
speak what of
when they meet
(setting sun and then)
drink tea; speak zen.

not spoken so much more
(silence broken)
by silent knocking
on the door
splintered fragments to adore.

starlight cannot come in
watched from afar
(silver hair bright more)
when poets speak
what came before.

David Taylor

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/two-poets-m-ee-t-cummings/