by Leah Armstead

You shrug off conversation as if it’s a fussy coat
too tight around your chest, hampering breath.

It’s easy to see your mouth as a sliver of moon
hidden by clouds that filter out brightness.

In perpetual silence you’ve found a way
to fade from focus, to receive vague notice.

They call you a loner, but I’ve been with you
alone, heard your wit and insight, know that

your silence in a crowd is as necessary
as stone walls that keep a garden intact.

Leah Armstead lives in Aberystwyth and has had poems published in Ragged Raven, Leaf Books, Recusant, and Pipeworks among others.