There is little sound on the train platform
less the busker’s foot tapping
something he hopes someone will hear.

It is late in the city that never
recycles right. Sleep steals
something daily,
rejuvenation at a premium.

I want to stay later, longer,
have tomorrow come already
when the kids run the halls again
class to class, the rush of routine.

Gaining their attention
I know not yet what
I would like to tell them.
There is a lot
they need
to know
though quiet seems so far
from important
and silence linked with sadness
and sadly something they must learn.

For other reasons we say
“Be quiet!”
Unknowing what words
they need to hear
what it is they need
to be able to
say.