Sunday, June 12, 2011

Even The Grass

Photo by D.R. Wagner, Elk Grove

—William Bronk

Here is the silence; it is everywhere.
Because it has always been, there is no time.

No need, then, to wait for the time: 
it comes always in the sense it was always here.

Noise is here but never any sound.
We listen for sound; it is as if we were deaf

Under the noise, silence is what we hear:
final, always, wherever. Silence is all.

Grass, I thought to keep you, would have stayed;
and you, trees, water, gone too.