this hour

I
revel in this thick hour of the night
when the world like ink
dips in silence
in a well of possibilities
when the lighted window shines
like a soul exposed
and I
think
of your darkness
and wonder
how are you swimming in this witching hour
between sheets, or pages
are you traveling on dark roads
headlights turned inwards
into the heart
and I write
because that is the only place I still find you
and because
I learnt to love this minute space in between hour hands
when all is silent and
still
when even the heart shudders in the emptiness
waiting
for a sound
I think of buffalos I never saw
and the words I never said
then this silence
heavy like a blanket
so still, my heart aches.