If You Choose Silence

If you choose silence,
silence chooses you.
Then you hear the last
petals of summer fall
in the dying garden.
You see a long way,
how stars got entangled
in the spider's web,
transparency of alder leaf,
your grandmother's hand.
Peace comes without ceremony,
the way the moon hides
her face in a veil of tears.
Your tears.
No votive flame of consolation.
No bell of mindfulness.
No lover's elegiac midnight kiss.
Quiet as evaporating dew,
the fist of your dear heart
unclenches, you scent
the old fragrance of loss,
and survive.

Photo:Demeter in my Autumn yard with sheaves of wheat and the last begonias

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