Some new form of silence gets in the way of every day noise.
This week gophers have eaten my garden.
The kale and cabbage is gone.
That lovely sight of growing vegetables
was the older, more common noise.
The new silence is piled mounds of well-ground dirt
centered around empty holes into the earth.
I am reluctant to trap them. I hereby wish that they
might get lost in long tunnels leading far away.
Long quiet, pleasant tunnels,
where they might crawl with ease and safety.
That would be more like the new silence
I would welcome.
But I am quiet just the same and waiting.
There are so many empty places for them to go.
The universe is so large and public,
my garden so small and private.
The place I go to learn to keep myself still,
to learn how silence can emanate everywhere,
even under ground. I cannot believe they have