silence

drifting in and out of uneasy sleep
the sound of raised voices in the middle of the night
a scream and silence

working in wax 7am in the sculpture lab
there is no sound to break my concentration
joining a piece of wax here to form a line, a plane, a surface,
my eye examines the subtle brown wax terrain,
cut, bruised, marked ,and smoothed again
I lose my place when raised voices come from across the field
carried on the wind,
broken and faint a siren
now closer and then past the building

I hear it and it is gone

The sharp sound of the ringing phone cuts across my dream and I wake
I wait to see if it will ring again.
The clock says 2:30. I know it is a dream and sit
my vigil slowly fades into soft breath and silence.

The cat cries, a thump and crash , I wake again
to silence
Where is that shifty fellow?
He is not of my dreams
Slipping in and out of the cracks of fear, he brings me news of raccoons in the kitchen squirrels in the library and a mouse in the house.
He is not to be ignored.
The silence is a good sound.

I live alone.

no one to take notes, confirm or refute my story.
events play out on a large scale
the thumps and sirens are there for all to hear...

More often it is my mind that breaks the silence,
a wake up call to an anxious moment and then silence.