Silence is a Silver Sliver

Silence is a silver sliver
A sleek streak of steam
That seeps under the skin
And shivers across still sibilant water.

It’s not a whisper or a whoosh or a whimper.
It’s an exhale, an egress, an exegesis.

It waits; it wallows. It lengthens. It waits.
Then it tings.  It tings.  It tings.

A still small voice.
It respires: “I am Yours; You are mine.”

Silence is not silent.
It listens.