Outside last night beneath a frangipani
a night’s stars swept, brushed our worlds
in passing rivers on their ways in darkness,
but silence is always awake for them
never sleeping, just faded within each hours
bent to blue tempered air caught by day.
Kind of something akin to strangers
in the back room, listening to every
word uttered between tongues, transmitted
voices unaware how every whisper is heard
echoing through the vast empty noise
tapping threads woven, intertwined, silent.