Maybe that is what happened to me.
If all this silence
was what it took to say goodbye.
Days of saying nothing,
so the wrong things would not get said;
would not be laid out on the table;
would not sit between us like so many other regrets.
Then I would quiet my mouth.
I would let the day drift by unsounded--
its clean, yellow light falling on the table
its warmth lying between us.
I would sit until the darkness came
and you had left the scene in silence.