Errors in Waking

He speaks of silence,
slowly,
as if she is in the next room
taking in every word.
He speaks of silence
calmly,
as if she would utter a cry,
a shout,
and ruin this tension.
He speaks of silence,
so cautiously,
knowing she is growing,
inside of me.
He speaks of her,
more-so speaking to her
as my limbs do freeze,
he is speaking to me.

Once, I had gingerbread promises
of the houses,
the family,
the cats
we would share.
Once I could build a house
out of all the things he concocted
from the silence
of his mind.

But now,
dwelling between the lines
of then and now,
I cannot see
how this has become silence
and he has silenced me.