Silently Speaking (#2)
sometimes we do not talk
but sleep, our old breaths
whistle coloring the dark
the annoying blues
buzz roar of my occasional snore
your relaxed red
exhales distantly sounding
like a smooth running kitchen appliance
other times we do not need talk so matched are our respective
half-centuries of maturity we are able to simply sit or lie still
near motionless, untouching but syncretically close
the luminous electricity of mutual understanding
sizzle spark arcing across alienating space, bridging
the depths of whatever differences might distance us
—kalamu ya salaam