Recreation of the Heart

The silence is holy and I hate to break it.
The silence is tall like trees
and old like the windows of this house
It stretches out in the morning
It keeps me in my bed
The silence dances on the branches of the pine tree
and falls lightly to the ground
with the oak leaves
The silence moves over the water
of a stream or in a cup
And washes over me when I am still enough
to fall down in the leaves
to do absolutely nothing

The silence this morning is holy.