Silence Listens
and then...the wind swept
over the field like a whisper
that can be heard but ~
never understood
like forgotten dreams
the second we awake ~
were they quiet while we slept,
or a cacophonous frenzy
in which silence is noisy words
which translate to nothings?
we're better forgetting them anyway
lest...they trouble our day
like a barking dog through a picket fence,
yet, when we look, it's all not there ~
all that's left are windswept fields where
whispers are only ~ imagined?
Note: A poem is never finished; It's only abandoned - Paul Valery
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