It is golden.
There is a time where there are no words.
It is the quality of the word that counts.
In the sincere moment of letting you pull your loose ends together again as they explode from the heavens to the deepest of seas.
You gather them back.
I’m still here.
Not filling the air with the inevitable pollution of meaningless talk.
I am just…
If I shut my eyes I can hear you.
But only by shutting off all of the other major senses.
Sifting through and filtering between what you want to say to me versus what you are actually saying.
In the end I hear the un-heard…
My hand rests on your knee.
A smile breaks through,
like a crack in the dry earth.