I want to get better at silence,
to entertain it as some do angels,
to rescue it like grains of salt
on paths beneath the soles of men.
I don’t mean mere absence of sound,
or the reprieve of holiday ceasefires;
I will yield the floor to the wind,
let the grackles have their say,
extend a modicum of grace to
someone who needs a last word.
Oh, to be the spaces between notes,
the breath before the singing.
I considered not saying any of this,
for silence doesn’t need a mouthpiece
but is a voice itself, biding its time
below the wars and rumors of wars,
waking me in the forgotten hours
when it is finally free to be heard,
asking me to consider eternity.
