The Unfinished Night

 

The whole flat is quiet tonight
The air does not move,
the wood does not glow
Even the walls hang in silence
like washing on a breathless summerday
The silence enters me and will not leave
My body sits in the stillness of the couch
My pen will not move across the page
The TV offers no escape
I am first in line: wherever I look
everything awaits your return

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