Not the slow unfurling of the fern.
Not the soft mulch of moss.
Not the sap making its way to the jungle floor.
The panther’s paw is a feather.
The river slows down and moves sluggish, a satiated python.
The flowers bloom with exquisite stealth. Each petal, shy, blushing.
This silence cannot be broken.
The lynx has shadows under its eyes.
The drip drip of dew drops is muted. The rain falls gently hesitant to break the utter quiet in its home.
What demands this silence.
Where does it come from.
Maybe from your head that empties itself of questions.
Or my heart swollen shut with answers.
Perhaps, in the river, buried in low tide, lies the reason.
('Bamboo' was nominated for the Best of the Net Anthology, in 2018.)
