THE ART OF SILENCE
folded breath
a volume of murmurs
that is all
an understanding
discarding options
so as to mimic peace
to sleep, dream or wake.
to turn away from friction –
a wishful free flow
to harmonise, to disappear.
the River of Milk,
our mother’s beneficence
for this dream
the old man, the prince,
the returning journeyman,
rise quietly in the night
to gaze at the moon
—
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Beautiful.
Many thanks! I suppose your garden must be under snow or dreaming at the moment? Ours is sodden, marooned in untimely warmth. Hopefully we shall soon have some cold blast from the North…
We’ve had unseasonably warm weather here too. Some snow arrived a few days ago but will be gone by tomorrow. I get to walk the garden every day, at least, but I keep telling it to stay asleep.
a wonderful landscape,
Thank you, Anne. Love your blog!
The comforts in this poem linger, Simon.
Many thanks, Bonnie