Silence

The place in the small hours

Before the dreams come

And thoughts

Unbearable on waking

Silence

That makes me afraid to move

unsure of my standing

What I can fill plenty

with presence

I cannot fill with palms

And charters

Or sun struck terraces

In cold blinding snow

What I can fill with meaning

I cannot fill with trophies, made up and parcelled neatly

A face blank, unfilled, and agreeable

What I can fill with depth

I cannot fill with docile admiration

Nor disrespect by losing myself

Again

Adoring praise with no understanding

Flippant and cliched

The correct thing to say

I am intrigued by fateful things

By precision timing, coincidence

And fear conquered truly

Everything is real

I experience silence acutely

It is secretive and lonely:

Pictures

I never wanted to see

And you look so well

With someone else

Who suits you

Who matches your sunglasses,

And your t-shirt

Who fits neatly beside you

In all the ways I can’t

She seems uncluttered, and sweet

Free of risk