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