there is nothing I can tell you about my quiet
that will be about your quiet,
only the most generic statements concerning
(but not limited to)
ticking clocks, heavy eyelids, humming
electronics with dull-glowing blue
and yellow hues.

these are the already-knowns of our quiets,
Venn circles forming the tiniest gibbous moons, while
we are rendered primitive, blinded
by the other’s unfathomable, barely-eclipsed sun.

tell me something secret about your quiet: something
that on rarest, perfect nights escapes to light
heavy eyes with bright-glowing blue
and yellow hues, and I will nod;
my face will crinkle with the effort of empathy, understanding
the fundamentals of radiation, understanding
while warmth transcends distance,
even from nearest celestial bodies,
impossibly tumultuous fire
appears serene, and silent.