Waking to Silence

...or quiet, really.

the smell of a chill early rise,

a pond, stilled by passing time.

Blue sky stretched along the horizon,

suns rays erased the stars —

and the scars of cars in flight,

save themselves for another night.

A book. A tree. The distant hum inside me.

Blink of a firefly,

the beacon of a lighthouse as it scrapes by.

Calling it “house” instead of “home,”

three beeps when you’re on the phone,

walking around with both earphones.

Just,

on my own.