a woman crying shifts the way this house

no matter the inflections

start to mimic how the time compares to other

moments unconnected one invents a better

language may relieve at least

but there is one of her and privacy

through which to watch sunlight

her expressive eyes release

she says small somethings

it is natural perhaps to talk in punctuation

while she occupies this day of knowing

what is known she waits to talk

this silence