The Hush
The morning is brittle.
It was like this when I awoke
and saw a thin coating of ice
glazing the ground. Beneath,
there is a fragile silence.
If I speak, something
will shatter into pieces.
Even my breath seems
to set a tremble upon the still,
one foot on its step
will break it apart.
Nothing else moves except
for the vapors slowly rising up
on the first rays of sunlight.
I will wait in this sacred hush
until what is here
withdraws into itself
and gently falls asleep.
There will be a morning
when I will know its name
and it will greet me.
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