An Ode To Silence

O great encompasser of the three AM world and the boundless countryside, where the wind sprints gently shedding its high heels, I wish you would come more often, to rest a weightless hand on a banged up shoulder, and to plant a tender kiss on a pale grizzled cheek ripped raw by the winter wind. A mute descending avalanche to drown the car horns, the obscenities, the talk shows, with all united under a single banner, One that needs no name no color no country, only to be embraced for what it is, the rarest of all treasures, the soundless. Return to me now, voiceless friend. I could use your wisdom, and your brotherly embrace. But it seems you visit most with those who roam after death, your dearest, best-listening friends.