In the dark

You forget about silence

You forget about
the deep-silence that
happens when all
human made things
go quiet, and there is
no sound, engine made.

And when the power
went out, as I was working
I could hear it draining,
all the equipment, shutting down, whining — to silent.
Quiet night, starbright.

And you forget about
reading in the low light
of something lit by
fire, as it was so far
back in time. Read in,
close, to see what is

being said. And when
what is being told is the
nothing of silence, then
firelight becomes some
thing more, alone, as you
are there, watching in.

We forget only the fire holds
the light, the darkening
chill closes in; arising,
the warmth made is
your own. And isn’t
all ways so?