The Manner In Which Silence Speaks

Tonight, we freeze despite
Being wrapped in blankets,
Sweaters and wool socks.

No matter.
We still dream soft dreams
While the inanimates
Of towns and factories afar warm
The night with their constancy.

White smoke hangs
Frozen above a stack,
Wrapped in the anonymity
Of the dark, while traffic
Lights shower sleepy
Thoroughfares with reds
And yellows and greens.

Those still awake drive
Sleepily to their homes,
Bidding goodnight to the
Semis, parked at rest stops.

There is no end to winding
Roads, the skies which
Encircle the earth, or winter
Caught in its own frozen manner.

Listen close…all might be
Quiet, yet silence speaks with
Thunderous wisdom.

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