Wild Flowers

Silent cries, these are the yawns of the morning
In exhaustion – the garden bed is too soft and natural.
How you ache to rise to a new day! And sing,

Your mouth stretched open like a rubber band.
I cannot hear the forest song, nevertheless it drags me
By my hair, to join the

Wild flowers. Is it heaven I see in you? I will not
Lie down upon these bloodlessly red lips. It is not like
Walking over hot coals, a purification;

This is purity itself. Its roots are in the earth
Buried for eternity – I will not even risk an hour
To listen to the songs of the flowers, or their tales of human feet.

It is a silence I must have, a story only the trees
Know how to respect,
Standing firm, actionless, and upwards always.