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:
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!
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