death and decay
and we sink
sink
into the soil,
into mother,
deep in her as she shreds us apart,
she meshes us,
so that we may we sprout once again,
be torn once again,
*****, eaten, consumed, and tossed into the dregs of the most unfathomable wastes,
we sink,
sink
into into the soil.

There I stood,
a grown man, (or at least I like to think of myself as one)
shaking her hand,
her hands; dry, rough, hard,
and my hands had never felt so soft as during that moment;  so sheltered as when I touched your mother’s hands,
her hardened thenar, those callused fingers, flooded me with warmth in the midst of a December night,
I could feel her love,
those hands that laboured all your life for you,
those hands  that have toiled for you,
your mother’s hands,
the hands of love.

"Everybody's talking at me,
I don't hear a word they're saying,
Only the echoes of my mind,
People stopping, staring,
I can't see their faces,
Only the shadows of their eyes,
I'm going where the sun keeps shining,
Through the pouring rain,
Going where the weather suits my clothes,
Banking off of the northeast winds,
Sailing on a summer breeze
And skipping over the ocean like a stone."

-Harry Nilsson

An eclipse of the heart,
Sorrow celebrates,
Darkness reigns.

Sialia, O Sialia,
how I yearn to hear from thee,
If silence be golden,
how rich hath thou made me?

I drove you home thinking how about how much I did not want the night to end,
It was quiet, save for the ambient noise as we drove through the freeway,
I glanced over at you, your face, your thoughts,
a  mystery.
You said to me “Do you ever just listen to the silence?”
and then suddenly it was as if I was in a special place,
a special place I only knew of,
a secret chamber I retreat to,
and yet you so effortlessly walked into it,
perhaps you already knew of this place,
perhaps you already knew of the silence,
perhaps you had been there far before I had,
these thoughts raced through my  head,
I replied to you after a few seconds of reflection,
“yes, I do listen to the silence”