I harvest silence
like a field of hay,
threshing intimacy
into rows of emptiness,

raked and combed
by long sharp tines
of the inner life,

storing silence against
the growing hunger,
everything so full
we starve.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

6 Responses

  1. silence can be golden
    when my eyes but see.
    amidst the clatter and Chatter
    I would rather that silence be.

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