as the blizzard approaches I
am listening
to James Baldwin speak
in 1963
and find myself alternately
distracted from the message
by the delivery
then vice versa
ever blown away
by his oratory
each word its own action
stretched, dropped, raised a
skill of a quieter era
bringing quiet with it
as an honored guest
speaking to silence
as long handwritten letters speak
to something we don't name the lack of:
the inability to be somewhere else all the time
sending and receiving each instant
it becomes quieter outside
and as I slowly anticipate
sharing a cozy meal with this house
I am glad that silence is in town
so that we can invite it over
to join us