We watch branches and leaves swing through a wet window.

The Quiet doesn’t echo the cacophony in my mind.

Instead it’s a friend and wraps me in a swathe of emptiness

like a blanket.

It provides comfort in fear,

and its silence feels like a threadbare and button-eyed love

hugged fierce in the dark.

It comforts more than honeyed chamomile

and says absolutely nothing when I need it the most.