Sinking into Silence
It’s a rare thing, that
Deep silence
Filled to the brim
Beyond a lack of noise
Talking has ceased
Distractions powerless
To unsettle, to undo the spell
One thing remains
Thirty heads stilled,
Just the scratch of a pen
A nose blown, gently,
A sigh, but within a cocoon,
A coalescence, an
Unspoken agreement
‘Do not disturb’ signs
Invisibly worn
A corporate meditation
Subtracting nothing
From the gearbox to
The wheels
From the inner man
To the hands wrapped
Round a pen, a chisel
Or softened clay
After, like waking,
Thirty heads see
Their neighbours as if
They were never there
It wasn’t a dream
But escaping the trance
There’s only one word
Satisfaction.