the world
lives in the death of speech
and sings there.
~ Wendell Berry (“The Silence”)
My time is here
within the details—
small tracks that whisper words
I’ve yet to say or spell,
a great expanse opening
new frontiers beyond
the clatter, the cacophony
of commerce, the pomposity
of puppets geared
to create more fear.
Talons latch and lock,
tumble carelessly
with confidence—young
eagles playing, practicing
pinwheels in the canyon
beyond the corrals.
There is no sound
from my open mouth
as they disappear
behind your hat, your horse,
Earl’s board fence
and our cows wanting
to get along.
No time to say
what will never be enough
or too much
before it’s over.
drycrikjournal 