Quietude 2

Some seasons poems

burrow 

below line of sound or sight

where language hides in mud

under thickets of birch,

tangles of alder twigs

for months on end.

All winter embedded

in quiet until the slow

uncurling into light,

as mushrooms magically

from fragrant earth

emerge, birdsong

dances hungry

throngs of newborn beaks….

Now, after the long stillness,

image, rhythm and word

stretch stiff, well rested limbs,

breathe sweet air,

unfurl riches bursting

into daytime,

their source nourished

once again, embodied

and awake to what

is ever new from silent

past restored.