He dangles feet in water, in his quiet.
The thin and frozen mist, the morning light;
The calls of homebound geese in breathless quiet.
My Lady wears her clothes of words well-ironed;
Language is the robe she wears, Miss Quiet.
A Godly silence; limestone in the night,
Electric blue and golden stained-glass quiet.
We trip the light syntactic, waves down fibre;
A solitude of numbers, pulses, quiet.
Rob is an abstraction, bits and bytes:
Water, Carbon, Iron. Noise, hiss, quiet.