The Silent Hills


Soft vespers

Semi circle

Wide open vowels

Floating deeply

vibratory chords

Sonorous chant

Breeze airless

Cushioned, sat

We hum

We sing

Intoning spun

Round, room

Robed in us

Monks, men

Wraps, knees

Lips, Oms




A library full of late light

Colors of the fading day

Skins of the world, brown,

Ocher, chestnut, taupe,

White bearded sons and

Bright yellow daughters, sun

And moon all gathered

For scriptures’ secrets told

We sit atop a hill, distant

From them, but near–us

Eyes closed to the world

We listen, slide into others

Gentle greetings and wander

Strange tongues we know–

Without words, definition.

I make myself small to let

Others commune, pass by

In a library of love and light.

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