White noise

Shostakovitch had a special friend
whom he could telephone to come
and spend some time with him.
No words would pass between them;
they would just sit silently across the room:
Shostakovitch solid as in his photograph.
After half an hour, he would thank
the friend, who would then get up and leave.
What he needed was the company,
not conversation; just not to be alone;
to have the sense of someone being there.
Perhaps it was telepathy? A transference
back and forth? A therapy? Sounds
outside our human reach and range?

Most of what elephants communicate
we feel but cannot hear; it is too deep
for us, though they can pick it up five miles away.
We do not hear white noise, but know it's there,
covering over silence - like dust in air,
only seen in sunlight. It protects us,
and our inner lives;
in part allows our sense of self.

Often less than music half unheard,
because not really listened to;
lighter than laughter through a wall
or children in the gardens down the hill;
it is like a picture not noticed till removed;
can be as slight as half the senses; a feeling -
almost beyond the rim of consciousness.

We seek out that comfort as our norm -
need a pulse of sympathy out there.
Silence can leave us anxious
empty
too aware.

Might much of what is meant by love
be best described as noise that's white?

Roy Davids - published in Acumen, Jan 2003