word thief
when the air
catches handfuls of my breath
and puts it in his pocket,
telling me he'll keep
it safe.
when he breathes in
a thousand words
still moist on red lips;
unheard
and now swallowed.
when my words stop
and i wait for myself
to say something,
but my mouth is dry
and my words
stolen.
that is silence,
like a thief
it travels
and through the room
brushes our shoulders
running
with our words in a sack on his back.
In These Small Sounds
These walls hear dreams.
As one goes, white noise follows
Into these rooms, and it reverberates
From ceiling to
Corner and corner and
Back again.
Louder, it grows
As notes add on.
In the bare brush of feet
Along this carpet,
In the faint strains
Of this song or another,
In the cracking of these
Sore knuckles,
In the pre-recorded applause
Of late night with
Insert name here,
In the rustle of weight
Shifting and sheets moving,
In the bangs of falling things
And muffled curses from
Hurting others,
In the clicking of a pen
And the jingle of
Keys,
In the rush of a door
Slam shaking the foundation,
In the scraping of a fork
And drip of
A leaky faucet,
In the riotous laughter
Outnumbered by the
Soft pull of tissues
From a box,
Collectively it is the whole of
An existence.
Decipher the static and
All you will hear
Is a life, in these
Small sounds.
