Last night I arrived
moon-eyed
and silent,
invading you
with my stone
heavy feet,
and a face
drawn tight
like a dark star.

I covered you
in a smothering
blanket
of earth,
and sat
upon your chest
like an elephant,
weighing
you
down
with silence.

Then a night prolonged
began
its labor
of hands,
carving
into stone
your quiet tomb,
and
the universe
closed
its mouth
and spoke no more.

Then you heard
the most
frightful sound
of nothing:
no cars,
no music,
no laughter,
no nights,
inspired by fights:
just an immense wall
of silence
blooming
like
an ever widening
stain
of spilled wine.

If you could
pluck
out your eyes
tonight,
you'd be a starfish:
silent
and submerged,
blind
and waiting

for a strange hand
to lift you
up
and pull you
into
sound.