It’s never silent anymore,
It’s never really calm;
It never stops
So she can hear her breathing
And there is pain in coming new,
In being born, or freedom —
Like growing bones,
Or maybe even teething —
These private things that just we know,
She knows them in good measure;
But cannot find
The truth thought-ways are teaching —
It’s never silent anymore,
And all is jumbled and confused;
So reachable,
And yet there’s no one
Reaching
