whispers loud enough to drown in
rattling the window -- the wind
slipping past your ears and hissing foul
sentiments, the very same that you've
always held, deep and far within.
a tilt of your head, exposing your neck
to the cold air -- frigid -- winter air
writing lies with a cold finger across
your gooseflesh; a long breath out.
and silence, for a single moment and
your muscles relax, your breathing
tapping tap tittering the clanking of the
shutters and the scream of the steaming
kettle as it shlop shlep -- burns! -- in your
hands, the scalding water bubbling, a
cry bursting from your cracked lips:
the sound of your own voice:
and silence, for a single moment.