Silence That Sings

Silence nests among tired hands,
listening to keys that find no home.
It draws breath from the cold coffee of morning,
and trains a voice for doors left shut.
In open notebooks and nameless receipts,
silence practices a music of dust and light.
Lost things open an unusual chorus,
an echo searching for a pocket where to rest.
A button loses color, a clock slows time down,
the metal rests in quiet note, a sudden chord.
Silence vibrates among dead tires and unseen lights,
singing what remains between steps and breaths cut short.
And when the evening folds the page of the day,
the melody finds home in what was never found.
Every lost object guards a fleeting note,
and silence, now a singer, still sings with us.