No Words

Spring has come,
a humid breath
between,
beneath
these ancient oaks

With their mossy beards
slowly
growing

Unknown grasses,
Stems of unknown blossoms
Rising Up!
Emanating a thousand shades of green
I have never
seen before

Or have I?

Goldsmith once said
The World is New!

And so it is
When the windows to the soul
are cleansed

Here, such a beauty
and stillness

as to overtake
this small me
totally

And this poem,
this creation of the mind,
even
a heresy!
a bastardization

of silence.

Spring

moment

that cannot be
spoken.

To open my lips
to invent a stanza
and already
I have departed
from Truth!

But for now,
Dear Lord,
this, this
is all I have to give

My humble and inadequate
offering.