silence is golden slumbers

Angel Of Repose

cloistered

in the cradled arms of this silence,

nestled deep in the bosom of this quiet,

language is unnecessary,

sound is a luxury waiting to be heard,

the hum of an appliance,

the flicker of the fire,

the exhale of a breath,

hers,

an aria as she sleeps beside me.

there is music in the spaces between our speech

where I have watched her dance,

the bride becoming the little girl

who never took ballet.

there are dreams in the pauses for reflection

where I have slept, eyes wide open,

the little boy awake in his bed,

restless to become this man.

as I lie here,

taciturn in this vestal hush,

all I hear are

her dreams.

my angel of repose,

her beating heart

like the flutter of wings,

like the rhythm of a lullaby,

rocking me to sleep.

Le Silence, painted plaster sculpture by August Preault circa 1842-43