Photo by Jeremy Thomas on Unsplash

rest

silence is
a new ghost

she moves like
an unblinking screen

cautious, like
forgiveness. silence is

prosperity, the gift
to close your eyes

at night, the gift
that they stay closed

rest.

where there is no
silence, there is

scraping and rust,
aches in the hinges

of salted words, there is
burned out stories and

hope, slaughtered
by raw nails and that
that-that-that

voice, a tin, certain stain
winding into a darkening trance
it is the

retelling of weaknesses, and
retelling of secrets, and
retelling of sins, and
retelling of retelling and

please.

where there is no
silence, there is no rest.

we catch them together
in solemn glimpses

their intentions tangled
in shadows
heads bowed, inching
further away.