Into the quiet dark
I commit my messengers,
the soul survivors
of desperate folly.
Send word
to the wanderers;
they must hear
of the rising stars
unseen before this night.
The sky map
will guide them
beyond the desert
of certainty,
to the river
of crystal water,
where tablets of the future
are written in green,
and the silence
of the mountains
be their comfort.
photo by Brenda Jenkins
Reading of “Silence of the Mountains” with music by Tinariwen
Along with You, Don, I offer thanks to the sky’s rising stars above that the once-unknown Message still survives in the care of ably committed messengers now. May such messengers, and the ones close by them, drink deeply the crystalline waters of a destined future near at hand — while “they” (and we) still can.
Thanks, Don. Indeed the folly of certainty begs for the silent comfort of assurance born of unresolved knowing.
Don, your poem, with the images of the stars, continues a conversation the other day, a memory of a winter sky during a Colorado ski trip. Very nice. Thanks.
Don…I love this tender poem.