No Words (For Hune) Poem by Eric Cockrell

i could write volumes about:
the barking of dogs,
the stampeding marching song of ants.
the screeching grate of the snail crossing pavement,
the sound of the fire flickering on the candle wick.
the hymn of the rain before it hits the ground,
the jubilent sound of the rose petal opening...
the scream of the autumn leaf
just as it begins to fall.
the sharp intake of breath,
when the tree sees the saw.
the heavy breathing of silence,
that brings darkness to night....

real language, without pretension,
or forethought...
without the need to grasp as 'i or me'!
the infinite language of a silent god!