Above moving night from her crescent-shaped ladle the moon pours silver. The wren's prism throat casts up a rainbow of sound over summer grass. Warm southerly breeze, scented by May-bloomed lilacs, breathes early heaven. Roaring punch-presses stamp out bright dangling earrings for delicate ears. In my dream I hear spiders strumming their cobwebs under humming trees.
Sudden silence is pregnant with eons of sounds waiting to be heard.
The listening sun paints a coat of life on earth by way of reply. Love's pure silver flame gives each innermost spirit invisible warmth. Silent cathedral, every stone a work of love, embraces the Christ. Crescendos of light build an eastern harmony from solar rhythm. The man who lends has many friends, but he who shares has fewer cares.