The Hush
is hearing
yourself blink.
A seductive vent
where words vanish,
before they are blown apart.
A child believing in a dandelion.
Or a small log bridge overtook
with early snow.
The signs and temples along the way,
where we must walk, all messiah-like
on the frozen water of the Siamese Ponds.
chanting our mantras on purposeful accident.
Read More Poems From The New York Almanack HERE.
Wow, nice poem! And love those Siamese Ponds and how their Wilderness neighbors us.