We needn't fill the empty space
with garbled sounds
of this or that.
Silence isn't a bad thing
like wildfires.
leaveing ash to spring
new growth.
No more a home
but black, scored bone.
We inhaling hushed stillness
fertile lungs full of embers
chirping, whistles like a lark
perches, prepared to embark
awaiting the second—
forgetting the first spark.

© Fae Hilscher