Near Silence (Poetry)

The window’s open and our quiet room
is warm with summer’s breath,
few sounds as yet, the only smell
a hint of sunlit pine
and in the lull before the morning breaks
its meditation on the far-off churr
of something feathered hidden at its heart,
we lie and listen as the curtain moves,
lazy in a breeze that comes and goes,
while a distant unseen train snakes on through,
its rattle hushed, percussive, tailing off,
then somewhere in the pale uncluttered void
a growl — an aircraft climbs its rumbling path,
both fading as though sucked into the thin
blue layers of a dome the forest raised
to filter sound and hold its silence in.