of the muted voice, becoming quiet along the way, one
soft stream of air made softer still, by the occasion,
and then another,
such divisions are a journey shared, an abbreviation
as one becomes the other,
two companions choosing from those famous paths
we all remember, dirt roads that jolt and separate
by way of morning or the invitation of night.
In the grove,
into an opposite momentum,
in time, becoming every bit the stranger out of step with all companions,
wandering in the nearness of solitude and silence, as patient
as the years and hours of ordinary life,
but less familiar.
Disjoin path from path
amid the afternoon lines of brightness and fractured shadows,
and the silent grove becomes apparent, a few trees
suspended in light and the stillness
a few uncommon expressions of time.