Words Whispered to No one

Cast your eyes toward the shed; the trees

no longer hide my street from view.

on a shaded hill-side, front and back –

gazing upon the water, I sing

to the Buddhists in your court.

Their howl is heard a thousand miles away;

It is evidenced by this great pretense.

You must forgive the silence in these walls,

and the darkness seeping through the halls.

Sadness is stretching its hands, pushing

through the ceiling, ever downward –

a slow, unyielding force to which I must relent.

My mind follows an intricate maze like a rat;

and like a nomad belonging nowhere,

I go everywhere, seek everything, and find nothing.

Palpable longings pale in this caustic moon –

the moon wearing its fitted rim of light;

in night’s flailing fabrication of heat,
words whispered to no one fall on idle ears.   

©  2012 Helena Malheur