Learning to Listen to Silence

Our friendship overcomes the distance between the balconies.
 
At first the extent seems long, gaping like the head of a ship-mast sailing beyond the horizon.
 
We could connect only with our eyes. We do not have access to each other.
 
Otherwise, she is companionable, very bubbly. She is petite, 
 
I guess she feels lost being alone. She demands I remain in the balcony all the time.
 
And I would, a book of poems on my lap.
 
My neighbours often leave her alone,
 
go roaming, to play or to munch popcorns in movie malls,
 
She would express her stress by barking through the morning,  
 
or whining the rest of the day. I learn not to be troubled by her tantrums.
 
She would jump with joy upon seeing me, let me know how happy she felt using the tail.
 
I never reason any other purpose for that appendage.
 
It makes me feel inadequate, the absence of it.
 
In that period of love we forge  our clandestine  kinship by panting like mountaineers doing high altitude trek.
 
I learn to return her love.
 
I would lean over the balustrade and pretend to hug.
 
She taught my eyes to ooze oxytocin, which she channels into her wide-eyed ardour.
 
And then her folks move away to another apartment, taking her along.
 
She is not aware of the plan to move, she has not been told, she goes without saying goodbye.
 
I still have the book on my lap, the book of poems, open and face down.
 
The silence is not adequate to replace the ligature of our bond
 
or to teach me how to bear her absence with quietude.