Listen to the stillness.
You can touch it. You can
hold it, but gently, or it will crumble.
You can feel it against your body
and in your chest,
like a humming, only silent,
residual vibrations of what-was-here
but serenely now-it’s-not.
A cavernous emptiness has swallowed
the last trailing echoes
and filled itself with quietness.
The day, with its noise,
has come to rest.
© John Allison Cannon
