“Love is the voice under all silences” e.e. cummings
The quiet boat that brought us
is finally sleeping –the oars too
have sprouted tender leaves, green
blue church bells ring just above
the water, just for us, in an flooded
church so far away; as time ticks
off the names from her hidden lists.
There, can you see?
two herons —necks entwined
on a branch above out boat –flared
by operas? Operas of so many sighs and bees
gathering light from dewy stamens,
gathering silences that have fallen
from our lips and that moment
when you and I were once held
by the river’s slow story telling.