: Hush (poem) by Adam Giannelli :

Hush

Adam Giannelli

 

It is the quiet that comes

after, a ladle of chill. Silence,

 

from shore to sheer shore, spans,

but hush lodges,

 

inland. Hush, like a locket,

lets no sentiment spill. Without

 

hush, there’d be no shrapnel

in belltoll or wingbeat—

 

and without the summons

of a trill, there is no hush.

 

The calm after a quake 

is no calmer, but it covers

 

over, and its veil wounds.

In the beginning there was us

 

then up spumed two lassitudes,

gust-filled gulfs, one on each

 

side, thin hollows, where air

flocks only to flatten. Hush.

 

You sighed first. I followed.