a poem for all my friends
there is a particular type of silence
that only comes
when the one you love
is sleeping in the next room
you cannot hear
the sound of her sleeping voice
but the knowing
that she is there
creates an ambiance
that is not present
during the long days of her absence
and it is not like she is on a journey
but rather
that she works in an office sometimes
and you have the house
to yourself
in the morning
it is so quiet that the birds are almost noisy
a cacophony of them
live in the trees that surround your house
it is their ritual
to sit on the telephone and power lines
outside your study window
and bellow at you
about your inability to fly
and during the day that somehow matters
but at night
with your love sleeping
a few feet away
the windows are dark as certainty
you write poems
your friends will never read
your feet planted firmly
on the hardwood floor
Copyright © michael dennis / above ground press
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