[36] The Air Like Water, Richard, Risemberg

city noises grind through our silences
gears and hydraulics whine while hard-edged burdens
clang and clatter on truck beds, howls
reflect the televised game scores
voices fade past our window, following
a taptaptapping of shod feet

silence remains, the noise
can only inhabit it the way that
light will slice through water
sharding and bending, light
in the grip of wetness
the city noises bent and crushed
by our silences

four walls of a room
the skin of silence
noises flash and bend
and pass away
the silence remains
the silence remains

the lotus grows
only in still pools
only in deep mud
only if it has light
has light to reach towards

the air like water and
memory like good clean mud
grow our silences
what we need not name.

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