No response


I wonder what it means

Which is a dangerous thing to do

Since there is an infinity of wrong answers to choose from

And I usually read too much into a silence

Or too little

Imagining the worst or missing the negative cues




Sometimes its frosty, cold as a shoulder turned away at midnight

Or just an absence of attention

A quiet acceptance of a moment of contemplation


But usually it’s just another lesson in patience

A question waiting to find an answer in a vacuum

And what I don’t hear

Is lost in translation



David Trudel  ©  2013



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