Morning Valley Silence Strings Beads of Lucid Thought

Silences at their utmost lucent
Brim with glazing rifts and rimes,

As happens when morning arrives
To clear the dazing mists of dusk —

And where a nothing used to tarry
In guise of the yet unthought,
Unknown, unheard, and unseen,

A thought — a see-through stunning —
Hatches and flies to perch
Upon one’s shoulder even.

And a heron in the pads of Beaver Marsh
Has just caught a fish and raised it, pinned,

Up and out of its own element
To be swallowed whole
Beneath steady eyes of blazing gold,

As though the bird were but a snake
With risen legs and coating wings,

Careful enough not to disturb
The ring of natant calm
Among the yellow bead-like lilies,

Some unbuttoning their bulbs,
While others still stay clasped and buckled.

And then hyacinths come to mind
Entering the irises of mine —

Their beautiful and brazen heads
Hovering and floating, ever tight
Within their clustered throngs,

Like sunshine above the lilies’ scattered gold.