Only a few lines long, this poem leaves most of its meaning in the gaps. It begins with a memory: "We were in the sunlight." The past tense matters. Whatever warmth or closeness the speaker is recalling seems to be over, and the "we" is no longer simply present.
The middle line, "What we cannot talk about…", trails off into an ellipsis, as though the speaker can't finish the thought. Something painful or unspeakable sits beside that bright image, and the poem refuses to name it. The last line, "What we can see," pulls back to what is visible and plain, perhaps a way of holding onto what is safe or certain when words fail.
The mood is quiet, wistful, and a little guarded. The poem doesn't say what the silence is about, so judging by the text alone, the feeling matters more than the story. Light and silence sit side by side, and the reader is left to sense the distance between them.