Some mornings while the coffee brews
Silences may settle around a few
Repeated phrases of birdsong
Drifting through the open window.
Remember there’s no need to measure out
Precisely, like flour and eggs and salt,
Any perfect ratios of words
To sift and stir into these moments.
We think of murmurs, sighs, laughter
As what draw hearts together, but
These silences, too, are acts of love—
They are the white spaces between thought
And movement that define the routines
Widening and enriching tracts of love.