DEEP INSIDE THE SILENCE I HATE,
THE SILENCE I LOVE
I go through my rooms in the dark
familiar as a cat with the coffee table, calmed by its solid dimensions,
the text of hushed contrasts, cold wood under my bare feet,
the prickle from rugs I spread to muffle the floor.
Yet it is sweet to hear sound in a house where one lives alone,
the walls settling into the vault of earth, a puzzled flyís sizzle at the
I wonít deny it, Iím afraid. Something euphoric is trying to enter
through a cleft.
Sometimes wind shoulders past the door.
The softest footfall gets louder than blood in the ear.
What would I give up for the friction
of human language, the flesh and argument of company?
A woman praised my roses, their musk and size and placement in a crystal
Though she had not struck its brittle edges, her words went clamoring
through every room. When she left,
the air closed around her space, and I moved freely through.