Quiet.
   The absence of noise.
People think of it as oppressive,
like a too-thick blanket, or the feeling you get
when your head goes under and water fills your ears.
I think of that feeling as a friend.
   Quiet. Silence.
    A reminder that I don’t need to speak.
Wordless eyes that meet yours, then
  flit away like an insect you’ve gotten too close to.
   The sounds of the wind through trees, each leaf rustling
    with a hushed voice that never truly breaks
     that beautiful quiet.
A dimly-lit laundry room, pooling with each click
     of the zippers
    of old, worn jackets.
   Each noise
   a friend,
  a reminder that I don’t need to speak
to be part of a conversation.