quieted

We do not see things as they are. We see them as we are.

Talmud




my voice is silent
my words in tightly wrapped
bundles
stored along the limbs
of the winter weary 
trees

I am quieted
by the need to
touch all the
textures
of the world
in which air
I walk
while I await 
spring

and from these lessons
will I know the truth
and have my words teased
from the muted buds