an old man's silence

I never do well with silence,
he said to me.
It gives me the jitters, makes me feel light-
insubstantial. Almost as if at any moment now, I'd be swept away. 

It has its own rhythms you see.
Tiny vibrations that if listened closely
make up a beautiful--but sad, sad melody.

at this he sighs, 
and looks to the side
but continues

in it you can hear 
little sobs, hiccups of pain,
a tear falling down a cheek,
arms holding each other, 
and a smile that doesn't reach the eyes. 

Once I heard 
he grabs my hand at this, frail hands surprisingly strong
and eyes, now incredibly clear,
a mother's grief and a child lost,
a father's helplessness and cruelty's regret. 

Sometimes, the sounds are faint
and those are the good days, when the ocean's calm.
But it is the days when the roar and the rush drown out my own thoughts
that I worry. 

Yes, yes, 
he's shaking his head now. 
Silence I do not like. 
No, no, he nods
me and it? no, we do not go well with each other.