There are mornings
when the wind does not call my name
and I do not answer.

I wait,
wings folded,
listening to birds that do not sing.
They know the Storm is near.

There are shades of blue
so flawless
that no devotion could crown them.

I pray
without words, without wanting
inhaling awe and exhaling joy.
The holiest hymns exalt through rests and refrains.

What I know about infinity
is that it has room enough for silence,
time enough for letting go.

I stand
beyond someone else's horizon,
the place where their vanishing clouds gather.
One soul holds quiet vigil while the other delights in rain.


Penned by my hand on the 2nd of Miraman, in the year 991 AF.