The night cocoon tightly wrapped.
Full moonlight shadows crisply carved.
Skin shroud securely stilled.
Windows to the soul welded shut.
Two tiny yellow sponges canal stuffing
to soak up every sound.
Barely a shield to border intrusions.
A futile barrier to attacks from the heart.
An erratic breath’s whisper.
A moment. Paused.
Suspended in the air.
No echo can escape
to wait for the darkness
to envelop it.
The beating drum, it has no rhythm.
It pounds then taps.
Sledgehammer then feather light touches.
It gushes then trickles.
Waterfall, stream, dried riverbed.
Waiting for the splintered cracks
to shatter the silence.