The Music of Silence

when breezes stroke my cheek
and mustard weed swaddles
wild hills in yellow down
my mind's eye opens
rises above swaying grasses
glides over bonsai groves
and breathes, finally breathes

I know I am not my body
but ripples ringing from
the bell of the world
seeking only
a breath of sky
a water's mirror
the music of silence

~ N. L. Nason ~