Being by now used to life alone
the Widow is mostly content
her house and mind are full
of projects, most of which
she neglects in favour of a few
plus the routine things she’s gotta
do, build the morning fire
bring in daily wood
talk to trees
stride through the breeze
and soak up the many qualities
of silence that she has come
to reverence
though it is punctuated
by subtle sounds
the faint pocking of hot metal
from the woodstove pipe
the occasional snap or crackle
of burning birch or ash
the hummm gurgle
surprise of the fridge freezer
the sporadic talk of the toilet tank
followed always by a s i i i i g h …
and the ever present
faint pulsing of her newish friend
tinnitus who sings
iamb beat iamb beat i am be
tea be tea be tea be tea
ever so quietly
while in a dish the cress
radish mustard and pea seeds
sprout              their sound still
too faint for her human ear