In January
 

In January
I can finally hear her. 

She no longer has to compete,
she is all that remains
and all that forever will.

In January
the other mammals are buried deep
with hearts and lungs working
just enough, just enough.

The leaves no longer aid
the wind’s whistle

the wind is
only a silent freight train
of disheveled hair.

In January
growth is resting
and rest is growing

and the earth’s spin
promises us
a nap.

Damn do we need one.

In January
I can finally hear her.

The sound
I’ve spent my whole life
pushing away. 

Pushing away with
some noise,
some distraction

afraid of what I might learn
if I let her stay.

Silence.