Your presence is silence; its yellow boots follow you

down the concrete path and into the garden, where cherry petals rub against each other

like sheets of steel.

Afternoon

Caught up in the sticky bleakness of this day, I writhe in the thoughtlessness. I rage against the silence of the walls. The body, coiled like smoke, dreams empty dreams; the soul pads around aimlessly on its soft paws. In its sleep, the mind tinkles like a silver bell at dawn.

The thought is electrifying: a messenger making his way through the brain
along the tendrils of aching nerves. The body responds.
Arched and tense, it trembles, awaiting in silence the one, final thrust.

I’ve been thinking about the growth of leaves in green cocoons
glued to the gnarled branches of old oaks.
And the sweet scent of unfolding flesh dipped in the evening dew.