Time of silence

Meeting you everywhere I go.
Spaces open and confined.
Lurking on your sharp and misleading movements.
Seeing you in day's other half
and with eyes halved
I least expected to meet you in the vacuum
between two dreams,
in my dreams after midnight
when no one plays the music.
 
And I keep on staring at you.
In my last letter I wrote:
your friends blocked my view.
Thought I'd stop,
I kept on staring.
 
Every time I near you, you cross your hands.
Gripping even tighter,
as if old man's eyes break the spell off you
and you stare out the window.
Painting and breaking the glass.
Hounding me knowing 
that I, fearless as I am,
loom you,
but you don't see me,
for I am on the other side.
We meet at the fountainhead of time
spilled equally in both day's dimensions.
 
In the days of October
you would read your poem in a shrilling voice.
I loved it, too.
Before day would break from night's darkness
you'd chase me away.
But you can't seem to see me still standing.
 
If no one will play the music,
clear out the hall.
I want to dwell silently in the rattle of your words
and the silence they bear.
Today is the time of silence.