There’s a calmness here,
A kind of silence that echoes through the body like a calm vibration
That addictive resounding void of sound
Quiet is the mind fretting nothing
And home is the place in which silence is peace.

Here where the man-made moat
Blissfully accepts the prattling flap of gosling wings
And graceful glides of mallards.
There is a pause, a surrender
Where life’s woes tow away in one broad shake of a shoulder.

I walk on the asphalt path,
Careful not to overstep and disturb their homes,
Admiring their decoration and their lamentation,
Finding comfort in knowing
The ancestors reach through their pine doors
To grant me knowledge of yesteryears.

There’s a tranquil sedative kind of peace here,
Like one could slip into the next life
With an innocent yawn and heavy hooded blink under the dead oak.
I’ve never known a better place to hang my head.