Silence
.
.
There is the sudden silence of the crowd
above a player not moving on the field,
and the silence of the orchid.
.
.
The silence of the falling vase
before it strikes the floor,
the silence of the belt when it is not striking the child.
.
.
The stillness of the cup and the water in it,
the silence of the moon
and the quiet of the day far from the roar of the sun.
.
.
The silence when I hold you to my chest,
the silence of the window above us,
and the silence when you rise and turn away.
.
.
And there is the silence of this morning
which I have broken with my pen,
a silence that had piled up all night
.
.
like snow falling in the darkness of the house—
the silence before I wrote a word
and the poorer silence now.
.
by Billy Collins