Quiet in the House

Today I am empty
Not a wound
A wound will bleed
Not a well
A well will hold water
Just a quiet space
With the imprint of whatever was here

I am learning that
silence has weight
and I can buckle
under the barometric pressure
of no words
or write them

If the page were a door
and the key was a word,
I’d want it free,
smooth
clean
clicking open
the way hope sometimes does

But if behind the door
there’s more of nothing
just echoes
and the echoed

Or worse
if there’s something alive,
on the other side
starving
waiting
for me to name it

Then
I cannot decide
if I want to feed it
or let it die.