Blowing silence
like a bugle
to announce his dismay

he got set
to make a statement
without speaking for a day

but his mother
just assuming
he had nothing much to say

sent her silent
revolutionary
son outside to play;

outmaneuvered
in the kitchen
by his mother's disregard

for campaigns
of wild muteness,
the rebellion fell apart

to the sound
of scuffing shoes
and the grumble in his heart

'cause silent protest
tends to lose
when no-one's listening very hard..

She reaches on tip toe
through windows and tries
to take hold of the outside
and gather it in,

for to feel the wind
and the pull of the tides
on the shrinking inside
of a life growing thin..

Falling leaves hurry to gather
at one worn headstone after another
like a funeral party uncertain where
lies the lost loved one it grieves;;

Time and wind tug on the memory
left in this absent minded cemetery
no one comes visit but weather and me
and the dead lying under the trees

have stories nobody can read.

That was the end
of her holy affair,

when she knelt, out of habit
and felt fresh air

finding the gaps
where her gods once were

like light finds the edge of a door
when it's not shut so tight as before..

I once found the moon in a forest
of fir two hundred foot tall,
it's face being lovingly polished
by fish in a silver pool,

the water was deep like a riddle,
as dark underneath as the pine,
I swam like a thief to the middle
but that slippery silver
                        refused to be mine.