Tuesday, February 19, 2013


It is silent inside,
it is my room and the room of your absence.
Spaces can suspend themselves
in time, with what is and what is not.
It is silent outside too,
in the darkness before midnight,
except for the whining of some shutter
getting closed. And the buzzing
of a ship engine.
We need these reassuring noises,
we need the close, light throbbing of the air,
what makes silence never absolute.
I let the heat of my duvet
sail with the silence, I let
myself slip in my cloud before sleep,
in the jumble I am going to slide in.
Each night I wish myself
to find you there,
in the busy dark
that I want to trust,
a sea where your eyes wait,
where whirlpools will embrace me
quietly shattering
the body’s boundaries.

1 comment:

Dave King said...

Clever. This phrase grabbed me first:

Spaces can suspend themselves
in time,

I found many levels to this. And then came:

with what is and what is not.

which set the mind racing, the rest of the poem nudging it in this or that direction as I read on. Excellent work!