Saturday, November 29, 2008

silence is golden slumbers

Angel Of Repose

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,

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

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