I wonder how long
it would take,
if I were still and quiet-
(no talking,
or listening,
to anything other
than the sounds
of the birds
and the breeze
and my heart)
to become bored and
miss word’s starts

and ends
and in-betweens
and conversations with others
and exchanges of meaning
and people stimulating
and connections relating
and dialogues vibrating…

but for now,
too much contact
has become overwhelming
and draining,
and I yearn
(in my
for the sound of silence
and a nervous system that’s

and calm
and hush
and peace,
and a brain with space to roam,
free from noise and energy leaks

I believe in the deep,
which calls in my sleep,
I would find what I need
to return to my home,
go inside
my own breath,
my own space,
my own bones

In my heart,
the thunder would roll
(shhh! listen!
can you hear its
restless roam?)
shaking and quaking
with truths unknown,
and I’d listen alone,
in silence,
and know:

I belong to the sounds
of my soul