A series of 12 prose-poems to accompany ‘The Silent Vigil’ book.

1. Threshold

The storm speaks in tongues outside,
but inside—only stillness, thick as centuries.
The meeting house does not blink.
It has seen many arrivals.

In the hush, the dog curls like a question
half-answered.
He does not greet;
he abides.
A sentinel of silence,
rooted in the marrow of now.

She enters—not whole, not sure,
but carried by something older than will.
She does not seek sanctuary,
only the end of fleeing.
And the room does not soften.
It simply allows.

She leans against the stone,
as if gravity were mercy.
Breath returns—not as defense,
but as I remember.

The dog does not ask her name.
He does not flinch.
He sees without piercing.
And in his gaze,
presence becomes prayer.

Nothing is healed.
Nothing is explained.
But the vigil has begun.

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