in the waiting room

alone is not lonely

sometimes the silence is warm and loud

and solitude is sought out, treasured.

clouds don't always mean rain

meet me here oneday?

the silence of there

we sometimes think maybe words can fix us

voices. sounds.

the melody of a penny-whistle
the staccato of crickets, filling up the night
the way these eleven tongues fuse lives in silent song
the minaret's echo as it chimes throughout the land.

but the more we listen, the more we're sure:
words can't fix this. fix us.
words can only fill up space
and distract us from the truth.

what we need now is quiet
the silence of there
that contains more in its ounce of emptiness
than this cup, even when it overflows