Silence will have its way
[singing in the trees before first light]
I know
that what this ritual
will give to the remains of the day
can still
the hunter in his tracks
what is now the silence between heartbeats
was once the dew on the ground during a twilight interlude
of dancing Naiads and their dreaming
life lived in the moment between rings of a
tower bell
can placate the wind during its solemn journey
(it now picks up pieces of broken glass
and scatters them to where the light
of tomorrow will not go)
what is left of this adventure
is written
in the hearing of an ancient
rainbow’s restful sleep
as it lets the sea breathe a new breath
(I truly believe I have felt
in the lashing of a wave on the rocks
the rain of all there is)
and when the stars have given up their
claim on the dawn’s memories
the hope that cradles our longing
will gather itself
as it has never done before
and
what the clouds will never know
is that the footsteps of yesterday’s travels
will only be enough
to string the bow of the last violin
that has ever grasped the air of our
furthest wandering
[before
then
silence will have its way]
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