The Secret Quietness

David Dephy

The Day Passed So Quickly

Strangely at dawn,
when you float on the edge of a night dream,
you hear a voice. It whispers in your ear,
the light lazily comes in, and the city appears,
but you are silent, frightened by the delayed seconds. 
In your thoughts, your childhood dives up, and you recall
your parents and the summertime,
when you caught locusts and didn’t know
that your father’s breath would never leave you.
Your mother was young at that time,
her kind smile makes you cry now,
as if the smell of that summer has reached you.
The secret quietness the crickets’ noise,
comes from a distance,
and the day passes so quickly,
you don’t notice the twilight.

The Mirrors

I am not going to change you.
You are the mirror of myself.
As I am yours.
I still remember that bird
flying above Pearl Street
in the Financial District in Manhattan,
as if the sky was its mother,
the bird hugging and kissing the air,
the sky so close to me,
so clear, reflecting the buildings
on its transparent body with centuries of revelations.
The sky was the mirror of earth, that day,
and I felt that smell,
the smell of expectation we both love.