There is a silence now,
it hides in plain sight within the fervor and the chaos
of our so-called lives.
It is deep, and dark and it eddies like the creek
behind my childhood home
banging off gentle rocks that wish it well
and have seen the passage of time counted in eons
rather than moments
and knowing that time will pass longer still
they remain rooted and unmoving in their resolve.

The silence calls in shimmers of golds and muted pinks,
I turn my face toward the dying sun
determined to fade and emerge somewhere else.
I wait, hoping for the sigh I imagine it will make
as it slowly slides into oblivion and
wonder, does it see us as we see it. And,
on the other side of the universe is
a person is waiting for the moment
when the light touches their face
signaling their day may begin.

In these silent moments,
I think of my childhood.
The excitement of bikes upturned on a cul-de-sac,
their owners lost to adventure and mischief
skipping stones and toppling towers,
damming mighty rivers into deep pools,
our power too great for this world,
hiding from those who would bring reality to our doorsteps.
A place we wouldn’t have to see until the streetlights called us home.

As the silence takes hold
I feel the ebb and flow of time only mountains will remember.
Lost between worlds,
all that was and all that could be lurks just out of reach,
teasing the periphery and threatening to cross into sight.
A haunting kaleidoscope churns and swirls as I fall further down.
The wisdom of my nephew calms the tumult and brings me peace,
“one day, my dreams will wake up with me”.
And though I sleep, I wait for the sun to call me.