by JANEEN SAMUEL
In this place is silence:
would that the world
could listen and be so still.
There is no stirring of trees
nor grasses; the pale-eyed lizard
either is motionless or swift
as a flicker of thought –
not moving, but transposed
from stone to stone.
A hawk is held
in the arms of emptiness
stone-still and soaring,
no pinion stirred.
From here the world has nowhere to go
and so waits
patiently, and content. The loudest sound
is the sunlight, striking stone.