Strong silence squats in places gone for good
the wind blows through these rooms and makes no sound
the water rushes by somewhere outside
the grackle winds the motor of the world.
In stillness shallow breathing is preferred.
Rather than commune with you, defer-
no half-measures, no shining beads of glass
nothing to deflect the eye from truth
nothing to coat the dread and cold of loss.
Preferring this to simpleton obtuse.
Preferring open eyes at midnight and beyond
staring through the dark towards the ticking clock
and bedsheet numb and trailer creak to - to anything at all.
At two a.m. the pipes moan fearful polyglot
the wind could swing the heartache if it would, but so will not.
In empty rooms the silence is as varied and as hard
as thoughts at two and three a.m. awake in sleeping world
and severance is bitterer than ever guessed to be;
moonlight wanes out in the pines and also there, in company
the taste of some great poison that leaves its victims live.
(a conversation with God about losing faith)