Nothing can be heard now
with the absence of sound
and silence of beaucoup
of a breathless thing
Touching the soul
understanding the willow
listening to God
with a gentle reminder
Of what was lost
and what was found
of what was forgotten
a silent song
Singing from the sky
the wind blowing
trees are whispering
a gentle reminder
Of the noise
I carried here
until even my hands
loosen their grip
And the weight of it
falls through the quiet
like stones returning
to the bottom of a river
The willow keeps its counsel
its thin branches bending
over water that moves
without asking beaucoup
