A Silent Chorus of Waves I dream stillness under the rough shine of the moon, hands clasped and when one blunt fingernail scratches the inside of a palm, I am rooted, edges of raven black hair shining. And when I am viewed upon moonlight, I am cold tranquility. When the ocean is brought into view, glimpsed with eyelids peeled back like the naked tangerine I hold in the curve of my hand, I am gifted an abundance of night. Thinly stretched over the skyline, darkness barely touches my feet on the cold concrete. Air stinging across my lips and my legs are exposed to the coolness nighttime inflicts, pajama shorts belonging to the comfort of a warm home, I am as about as silent as the ocean. There is an echo of conversation from dark homes, whispers gliding past turned heads because dark inspires silence and the slow crash of waves is faint in the air. Night blends lagging movements behind thin, sand crusted walls, pushing motions into a soft cycle of repeating routine but in the dark. Match flicks flame into candles and my world, a silent world, is tossed back into loudness.