Like the air
inside a balloon 
I know it’s 
me that carries
us up there 
you’re the thing 
that keeps me 
from disappearing into 
nowhere but here 
it’s true then
that a book
despite its wisdom 
is little else 
than random paper 
without its binding 
holding it together 

I find
that I
don’t more
than I
do about 
others anyway 
why them
when they 
don’t me
it’s simple 

I now deaf
to the sound
of misery suffering 
being a giveaway 
despair and problems 
are the songs
of the wicked 
but I deaf
now only hear
the sounds of
feathers in flight 
wings of angels 
as they catch 
the Heavenly light 

Looking outside seeing 
fire bushes and 
trees ablaze in
the cooler temperatures 
some already naked 
I notice people 
moving about differently 
whereas fall brings 
with its shedding 
it brings layers 
to those who 
quickly scuttle about

I never knew 
just how quiet
quiet really is 
it’s so quiet 
I can hear 
the ice tink 
as it breaks 
apart and floats 
in my glass 
it’s so quiet 
I can hear 
the lofty feathers 
moving around in 
my down comforter 
making room for 
pockets of warm 
and it’s so 
very quiet I 
can hear light 
from the hall 
whispering that it’s 
almost dinner time