Quieter than the ending of the night when the graying of the black and
the graying of the light meet and it’s dawn;
quieter than the ending circuit of the tires on snow
after the engine is cut and the hiss of the brakes is over
and rivulets trail down the windshield and I gather myself to go in;
quieter than the emptiness of sound after the echoed shot in the hunt and the hart is down;
quieter than the clouds beyond the tip of the plane’s wing,
The place in me where I find you and the noise goes away.