The lonely blackbird criesAs she flies across the morning skyOverdue at home to a family“I’m coming, I’m coming.” With nowhere to beAnd no one to take care ofI watch. And sip my coffee.And sigh.
A celebration of silence BecomesA celebration of the creak of the chairThe crack of his neck,The knock of her bonesThe cough of the manConsidering his coffinThe shuffle of feet Obviously stressed by the stillnessThe creak of a kneeThe chair againA sigh of settling for someone Who sighsDuring the moments set asideFor silent meditation And a celebration of tiny soundsinstead…