Why is it that no one notices the river
until it stops running?
It is the silence of the clock that
catches our ear,
and the moon eclipsed is of greater note
than the one that shines in our darkened windows
every night.

The sun is forgotten
like all things expected
until dim, clouded winter
when it is missed like a lover,
like all things reliable 


Noise only becomes music
when there are pauses between,
joy to be found in absence,
presence no appreciable gift.
No one is grateful for breathing
the in
the out
the in
the out
except for those who have nearly drowned
but I should be the only one
who takes my heartbeat
for granted.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s