Silence at 7.05

As first tea steams
and a bleeding nib
scratches memories
to dry on the page

as if intruding,
the silence that was there,
must have been there,
made itself known.

And I am sinking, bidden
into an endless space
where life organises
its sock drawers

irons all creases
and stills an engine
to the lowest of rumbles;
a contented purr.

Or, in the unhurry of low tide
where mudflats sigh,
and soak in the sun,
closing their eyes.

Here, in the depths,
words of wisdom,
float up like light-bearing
creatures of the deep.

Tiredness slips away.
Endless energy stretches
itself like a smile,
and all, all, is well.

It is here that
the Lover of our souls
chooses His moment,
To love without words.