The quality of Quiet

Increases some places, some nights

And a nearly invisible woman found

That it could be harvested

Without being lessened. Like a seed crystal

Some of the Quiet she took in this night

As she wove her paths through the downtown

Imposed its calm pattern on her psyche

Without her taking it away.

And when, later, the punks itching for action

Saw through her invisibity and descended on her

With their Hey Baby and their Whey Ya Goin Cutie?

She took the blanket of Quiet she had grown

In her perseverant soul

And dropped it over them

And they gently crumpled to the sidewalk

And fell to sleep,

Slight smiles on their faces.

She took a knife from one, guns from two others,

And walked them to the river and dropped them in

After drawing a shallow red line across the throat

Of the knife’s former owner

To give him and his associates

Something to think about.

Then she left to find more quiet

And perhaps more disarmament.