He came in with such silence

That I half-watched for a tear to fall as he stood

At the entry table, hesitant.

Home again, minus the usual all-encompassing hello

Keys dropped, meeting the glass with a clink and a jangle.

In the lamp’s jagged-soft light,

He looked different.

Quiet, still, and sad.

Afraid, but new.

Home again, the amber spill of light

Shrugging outside’s dark off of him,

Like a butler with his master’s coat.

The click of the lock when he turned his key

Still sounded in my ear, and his head hung

Slightly forward.

Was he so changed?

I could smell smoke and the humid night air

And I wanted him to remember what love was

And ache for it.

His leather wallet, filled with my childhood,

Thudded softly and I wanted to be able to

Swear on this moment

And be the silence.