Voices

I know that it's Spring

because the apple tree is

flinging away her clothes.

The blossoms fall

without announcing

their joy or sorrow.

They need no voice

but the breath of April.

I’m tired of voices,

both yours and mine,

yet I could listen

to our silences

all night long.

Forgive me, Lord,

sometimes I even get

tired of your voice.

How many scriptures

does the world need?
How many silences are there?

Now come, breathe, stay.

We could meet here

where your silence and mine 

and even

the silence of God

fling away their blossoms

and whirl.