Sometimes silence does all the talking.
Summer slides away and we look
into the faces of the dahlias and roses
to see how they show not tell.
This is what it is to find another:
an eye to the blossoming stars,
irradiated galaxies of color and form,
freed, like houses turned inside out
to welcome every visitor,
bee and ant and hornet and human;
leaves tangled in darkness and roots
that know each other’s secrets
in the world below.
Sometimes silence does all the listening.
Our thoughts move down and in
to their gracious, slender stems.
They take us in, motion us to stay,
invite us, anyone at all, only to consider
where we’ve come from to meet them here
and where we might be going when we’re done.
Sometimes silence sees so much better,
one blossom to the next and next and next.
Such clever masters to sit quietly this waning season
while we figure on our own the true way
to care for one another and ourselves.
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