A Quiet Place.

Walking with silence

in the slip of my pocket,

Like a slip of paper

handed to me in passing,

folded up with the words resting

Waiting for the right moment

forest limbs bend to quell the loudness

Filling my trousers with the air in between

Holding my hands with ferns lean

Shifting my hair to direct my glean

As if my presence here talking with trees

Answers the words waiting

Wrapped up in the slip of paper

As if I’m slipped into

the pockets of the forest

Slid through the ferns reach

Sliced through the still air

Wrapped up in silence

And My body becomes the question

My breath the answers

The slip of silence

Both a verb and a noun

As I am brought to the quiet place

Inside me

Dancing to a song only the trees hear

A palpable response

to the noise of the world

Like the slip in my pocket

tucked into silence,

expanded by the quiet