Advent Retreat, Gethsemani Abbey

At first you force your silence,
then it smothers all your verbs
and burrows to the inner edge of words.

At first you force your silence,
then it ponds the stream of thoughts
like rocking sleeps the child.

At first you force,
then even reaching for a spoon is pianissimo.

So let legato breed legato, then, but note the danger signs:
the thistle’s nod in matin breeze seems like a secret handshake;
you see the clover’s fourth from far across the courtyard;
your own name sounds odd.

You’d best start back toward the surface.

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