an afternoon heard

from the window,the sound of wind. almost voice-like. and then, silence. silence? or the aural void that replaces the wind? television talks. just as it did since dawn. the clock ticks overhead and holds an unending conversation with the table clock. a distant vehicle blares and another and another. birds sing.  the next best sound after silence. the beep of an incoming message. occasional giggles and quips from the drawing room. melodrama unfolds on the television. and silence falls. again. the keys click as i type. and life flows, dull and grim without the music that is silence.

At a poetry reading session

words.
mazes of words
whole streets of them.
a swift drive through
one of those localities
never fully seen or understood
words
that capture
that dreams are made of
words
wish mine were like yours
words
the choicest words
picked from a garden full of blossoms
words
your words
have built my dream house.