Frontiers

THE FRONTIER OF SILENCE

Autumn comes as it does every year

and greens turn to orange, reds fall on soil and streets,

lonely trees watch branches sway and grow old

stones smoothed by passing streams wait for winter,

a happy boy throws a rock at a dark lake

plop! 

and nothing remains,

A girl sits and dreams of talking fish

birds fly high above going south to rest, to their warmth

here there is only the silence

of a word

of a dream

of falling leafs 

melting snow tells 

of somewhere where there is no sound

but it comes down quickly, becomes part of the sea,

No one listens

no one waits

these are the silent months,

old door swings open 

at an ancient mountain look-out post

that waits for a poet to leave words 

scattered on wooden walls,

while mist and fog cover everything in loneliness.