in the fourth day of silence

in the fourth day of silence

It was once offhandedly mentioned to me

that my father’s grandfather died, shot by Nazis

in front of his kids and wife

straight through the temple

one of the films

available on my phone, so easily

available

heads surrounded by a crowd of farm animals

goat, horse, cow

a husky woman carries water proudly

one bucket in each hand

his family, I rationalize

not mine

*

Some point in the fourth day of silence

standing in my room tying my boots

a voice

in this body, in this place, with these people

grows more of more distinct

a thousand eyes

the way a word builds on a word

in prayer

sit, there’s enough space—some days

it’s a miracle

touch your hand to the wall

destruction and siege, siege and destruction

then strategically excavating, we find a certain peace

the world will be ending soon

we sit side by side and bless each other, silently, then out loud

the silence is progressive

it swallows me like a drowning person, wave-on-wave

reprieve:

a short conversation with a cat

a tender interaction with a kitchen staff

a question about how to cut the vegetables during my devoted service

a thank you, uttered inadvertently, then an undertone apology

remembering the feeling of falling in love

really a love affair with the self that will never be complete

without you

as I sit on the sidewalk quieting my mind

a peacock splays his cobalt feathers

this is how it is with narcissism

and regret

when he is happy, he dances with his wings and his eyes are full of tears

who’s to say that I wasn’t born from this silence, the moment of being touched by grace, the initiation into this world

bud, flourish

die

again

until all that’s left is there

the peacock feather

that brushes the center of intuition

on the mat

wake up, She said without speaking

wake up to the beautiful sound of my voice

*

It lives in a void of the unspeakable

inside of a white noise that will never release into music

I close my eyes and try

to imagine my great grandfather facing his death

what is this darkness that’s always lived inside of me, filling

me up with heaviness when I least expect it, a smoke

that suffocates an entire room, a campfire

burn that fills the sky and covers the stars in thick

opaqueness, ashes from an oven come through

the nostrils, an uninvited house guest

I will wake up in the morning

with that mysterious ache in my chest, calling

for me to get up, take action, make it count

a depth of sadness unimaginable for my scope of experience, their stories explain it all