Quenched

I am quenched

by yearning.

I pray without words.

Earth answers

with wild poppies.

She sings the silence

of the meadow.

And because the sun

must overflow this morning,

golden ripples

clothe the naked beauty

of the soul

in colors, umber,

cinnamon, persimmon,

olive and wheat.

Yet we share one breath,

and surely, it is green.




Painting by my friend, Klaus Ostendorf