whispers loud enough to drown in

rattling the window -- the wind

slipping past your ears and hissing foul

sentiments, the very same that you've

always held, deep and far within.

a tilt of your head, exposing your neck

to the cold air -- frigid -- winter air

writing lies with a cold finger across

your gooseflesh; a long breath out.

and silence, for a single moment and

your muscles relax, your breathing

evens

tapping tap tittering the clanking of the

shutters and the scream of the steaming

kettle as it shlop shlep -- burns! -- in your

hands, the scalding water bubbling, a

cry bursting from your cracked lips:

stop!

the sound of your own voice:

whispering,

hissing,

tap tittering,

screaming

stop!

and silence, for a single moment.