Darjeeling

The light is muted, and how I love it

As it drapes itself atop the features of this room

clinging to chairs,

to papers,

to belongings strewn about,

as reluctant to move as I.

Neither boredom nor bedlam could compel me to leave --

the streets of this city I’ve known far too long,

though none could compare to the one I call home.

You close the door behind you

soundless travel

footsteps

no questions nor answers,

you know how I work.

In lieu of conversation, we’ll speak wordlessly for hours

You’ll tap out a rhythm on your keyboard,

I’ll harmonize in thought.

(Why speak

when we have everything?)