She bought her silence at the market stall,
unwrapped it while she walked;
plugged it in her headphones
while she gazed headlong above:
To stars eternal sleeping, far away, but not enough
for telescopes to miss their spark, just too large
against the dark.
Onwards and forwards, on the pondering promenade,
hands hidden in her pockets, fidgeting on
smooth papers, drawings, constellations and starships
all of which will hold her higher up to heaven
and farther then---
She climbs over the fence, old and decrepit, to quiet
blackness and open ocean, witnessing inky potion
laving the land where the water greets;
and sees the stars in a different sea---
She stands still, sounds softly returning,
hearing the echoes of eddies eating
at the shore and distant city murmuring;
she looks up-sways- and turns,
back to the lazy market, to buy
herself mute music.