Something is wrong with silence this morning,
The cars, the buses, their honks, their vrooms, on the road--
Silence should be deafening, echoing
Silence should have nothing to unload
For silence is the tragic weight of an ode.

Diazepam can only slow down the hours
My heart, my thoughts, my soul, smile is ours.

I'd bite those fingers until my strength ebb away
I'd bite those tubes until they lost their power
Over my soul, until there is only yesterday
Until the silence is returned to its place
The silence of cosmos, of eternity,
The silence returning upon my face
When every atom is back in their density
And sorrow lost its intimacy.

Until then, yet amid the vehicles roaring...
Something is wrong with the silence—it’s mourning.

Mar. 24, 2025/some velvet briars