Silence gives my words strength

wraps its vines around my muscles

and tightens, squeezing my body into attention

Delving deep into earth and restful decay,

roots penetrate me, searching out my rot

And Oh! Is it there

right there on the surface

amidst the litter,

claver and natter

cleverness and schemes

beliefs and systems of conquest

building ramparts and engines

to hurl down my enemies and problems

Then - Then my sins are revealed

poking out of earth, the rot and nutrition of fallen wealth

I cannot fly

these clicks and snaps haunt me

the breeze comes through my silence unbidden

and disturbs me:

"Be warned! I come as a thief;

I am your oracle

pronouncing doom but hope."

These written words are as organized

and telling as a bright yellow sign in the woods:

"No trespassing, Private property"

I hear all at once your trucks, trains and jets

compulsions of busy domination,

slicing up the stillness

same breeze that pulsates against me

is bustled and beaten by all machines of industry

Which one do I belong to?

Which one does me good?

Which one owns me?

--This silent sleeping chaotic restful wood?

-- or Commerce, capital, dominance, hegemony,

a milieu and stew I cannot pick apart

so I eat it whole

"Go! leave us" these woods hiss at me.

"You are not like us.  You do not belong here.

You've got the work of silence to do -- or else!"

I have no idea what I should apologize for:

I am homeless and visiting

Forgive me Lord!

Forgive me for walking in on your silent praise.

I'll go now.