Eric Simmons

The cocking of a gun
Cold and mechanic
Goes unheard
Before the shot

The wind stops
Like a man’s
Last breath
On the deathbed of his choosing

Crows shriek
But then go quiet
Seeing that they can’t shatter
The silence of near death

Sound does not recover
So easily
Hours pass by in this shade of sound
Yet silence is no evil

Silence heals
Silence and time
Hand and hand
Can do anything