Words, of course, but
Also the silence
Between them.

Like the silence
Between
The beloved and you.
Silence full
Of the unspoken
As a seed is full
Of all
It will become.

No poem made only
Of silence.
No poem 
Made only of words.
~Gregory Orr from “Words, of course, but” from How Beautiful the Beloved

Some mornings all I do
is write down words—cistern,
tribal, cached—copying them
from sprawled pages of books
across my desk, words that call out—
glimmerings, cursive, saffron,
heartwood—holding me in place
as if to say listen, you may need me
someday, I might offer you another way
toward beauty, or even beyond.
~Andrea Potos “Daily Practices” from The Presence of One Word

I want to make poems
that look into the earth and the heavens
and see the unseeable.
I want them to honor
both the heart of faith, and the light of the world;
the gladness that says, without any words, everything.
~Mary Oliver from “Everything” from New and Selected Poems: Volume Two

This morning

poem hopes 

that even though
its lines are broken 

its reader 

will be drawn forward to the part where blueberries
firm against fingers 

say roundness sweetness unspeakable softness
     in the morning
light.
~L.L. Barkat, “This Morning” from The Golden Dress

In the ghostly dawn
I write new words for your ears—
Even now you sleep.
~Amy Lowell “V” from Twenty-Four Hokku

The blueberry fields
are all afire,
each leaf an October mosaic.

As chlorophyll wanes,
the colors appear by magic,
like words selected for a poem
which begins as an empty slate.

Each carefully chosen.

Each surrounded by silence
becoming more holy
when it’s no longer empty.

So much of the beauty of poetry is the silence, a pause between the words.

Like life, there is nothing empty or meaningless about pausing.

Like poet Mary Oliver:

I want to make poems
that look into the earth and the heavens
and see the unseeable.

I am so awed at your faithful reading and generous sharing of what I offer here.

Even when my lines are broken, or I say again what another has already said much better, yet bears repeating — I too try to write with quiet hands, and see through quiet eyes, out of reverence and awe for what unseeable gifts God has given us.

Thank you for being here with me.