Stilness
Jennifer Townsend
The night is still but there is no silence.
It hasn't stopped raining for fourteen days
and nothing speaks to calm it.
In a waking dream there are two people standing.
They are stretching into each other.
Their hands are two hands and there is
no end to the rain beading on them.
It is senseless to stare at these hands;
they are as foreign as the monn falling on bodies.
The two almost break to be near one another
and puddles grow deep around their still feet.
They speak in half-whispers, closely into ears.
In more than one hour nothing is said.
His body will remain foreign
in this nocturnal stillness to near silence.
The sky is still dreaming.
They are not yet naked.
