Poem, do not raise your voice.
Be a whisper that says, “There!”
where the stream speaks to itself
of the deep rock of the hill
it has carved its way down to
in flowing over them, “There!”
where the sun enters and the tanager
flares suddenly on the lighted branch,
“There!” where the aerial columbine
brightens on its slender stalk.
Walk, poem. Watch, and make no noise.