Because I do not know words – tender, true,
and worthy enough to tread upon the pristine
sweep of your soul,
I give up on words
and offer you the integrity of silence,
the undefiled page,
and the wordless wonder of your own beloved self.
Here the sunflowers, there the hummingbird....
Are my boots old? Is my coat torn?
Am I no longer young, and still not half-perfect? Let me
Keep my mind on what matters,
which is my work,
which is mostly standing still and learning to be
astonished....
which is gratitude, to be given a mind and a heart
and these body clothes,
a mouth with which to give shouts of joy...