How could something so silent
speak such clarity to me,
as though I have never found
any living thing inside the room
of my soul before?
The nude floor and open windows
break light against us, washing
each cold foot and finger in dream-heat.
We are awake but still, and if
I catch the instant, will it be dutiful
or pardon itself and fade?
I am not aware of that;
only the deep quiet, restless within,
gives this time a reason.
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