this solitary hill.
this hedgerow too holds most
of the horizon from me.
But as I sit and gaze,
space beyond that hedge,
my mind conjures
a silence more
until my heart
is all but daunted.
As I hear the wind rustle again in the foliage,
I compare this infinite silence to that whispered voice:
I recollect the Eternal,
long-dead seasons and the present season
alive, the sheer sure sound of it. And so
my thought drowns in its immensity:
shipwreck is a sweet thing on this ocean.
don't like the switch to shipwreck