I can’t speak 
for silence for 
she has her 
very own voice 
the kettles blurble 
the faucets swoosh
the moan of
floors begging me 
lay off cookies 
these little whispers
I haven’t heard 
before being busy
but now silence 
is my lover 
and in this 
she lovingly coos

I go about 
my daily business 
of mostly nothing 
except for mop
or cloth or
clothes or sheets 
merrily mundane this
new normal is 
oh so pleasantly 
pedantic and perfectly 
pedestrian boring is
what I’m hoping 
dull is nice 
it lacks cymbals 
and tympani and 
big booming drums 
now the rhythm 
are my sighs
being my song 
a well-lived life 

I shall never tire
of watching things move 
children cars or people 
but I once water
having always moved too
am now a mountain 
and have no plans 
of ever going anywhere 
shoulder to shoulder forever 

When missing becomes 
gone the longing 
of same expires
evaporates like summer 
showers barely leaving 
a mark maybe 
a lingering pinch
barely a sting
for time numbs
almost every ailment 
all that’s left
is some far
off melody maybe 
a bell in
some faraway town 
rarely heard unless 
the wind’s right 

I love my
home the peace 
and serenity in
which I swim
be it naked 
or even clothed 
I move languidly 
and lithely from 
room to room 
nary a splash 
and each place 
something new I
see be they
picture pot or
plant each one 
bits of me