This Late in the Afternoon

This Late in the Afternoon

(“You are praised with silence in Zion, O God.” Psalm 65:1a)

Are the shadows similar to silence,
can I hear the shapes they imitate?
They intimate there is more here than
I first thought. Can silence be the same;
can it be a space that speaks of something else,
though it goes without a name?

There are three, maybe four people I know
whose silence is not awkward. We have not
run out of things to say;
we are simply digesting them, ruminating
to find the truth hidden inside
everyday conversations.

I found a snapshot of my father,
his father,
and me,
and my son. He was not yet one
and we stood on the lawn for a picture
of four generations. My son does not remember it,
so I think I will send him a copy, without comment.
Silence never insists on a particular point of view.

The shadows grow longer this deep into August,
I must find the sunny spots earlier than a month ago.
Clouds swim overhead and the sun ducks behind one
for a few moments. My fruit trees blink when it
peeks back out. Silence is stiller this late
in the afternoon.