Beautiful sun to which I orbit…

His rays reach right through my skin into my heart, and disappear into emptiness.

The melting of our separation has occurred in silence.  Moments, ripples, the soft curves of a web, our eyes catch, the crap in my head suddenly loses the perpetual race, to which I still cannot figure out who exactly it is racing.  Through our silence I work to reject the narrative I place on my sun.  I attempt to be mindful, my silence slips into observation as I witness you move through this world, interconnected, awake, bright

With an ethnographic eye I let you be and paint myself as other

laying in the grass, taking 45 minutes to walk 50 feet, sitting in front of the city, pointing, watching your eyes drink the world, I fall ever deeper in love with you

———————

Seeing in silence:
	never the same twice,
	but when you get it right,
				you pass it on. (Gary Snyder, Small Axes, 1983)
---------------

I don't know what I will pass on. Although I can identify my own patterns that you will absorb
but I feel it, seeing you in silence, letting go, and it truly is, never the same twice

never the same sound, voice, laugh, smile, dimple, touch, cry, curl, step, or dance move

when I see you in silence, I connect to this world in a way I have never known

the words
they will come,
slowly,
trickle,
and then flow, maybe wade, puddle, and then transform into a lahar of which you will construct your reality 

but I am in no hurry to pass on you,
simple gesture,
reach for my hand
soft smile,
connecting,
steps,
pointing
sit,
leaves rustle
plane,
siren,
gazing into my eyes and seeing something deep in me
your yawn,
your devious smile,
the daredevil curl in your brow,
your noticing of others sorrow,
the tear that forms in the outside corner of my right eye,
slipping,
our eyes catch,
you point,
I follow,

Don't mistake my silence sun,
I am not withdrawn, not neglecting, not holding on, not distant,

I am following your lesson, your example
of how to move, how to pass it on...

Plenty of time to fill the space with phonemes, metaphors, idioms, opinions, thoughts, screenplays, stories, narratives, fantasies, and observations...

In the meantime I will watch my sun rise and set, and allow the labor of words a rest, my sun, and allow the the leaves to fall without name. 
 -------------------------------- The Silence by Wendell Berry

Though the air is full of singing
my head is loud
with the labor of words.

Though the season is rich
with fruit, my tongue
hungers for the sweet of speech.

Though the beech is golden
I cannot stand beside it
mute, but must say

"It is golden," while the leaves
stir and fall with a sound
that is not a name.

It is in the silence
that my hope is, and my aim.
A song whose lines

I cannot make or sing
sounds men's silence
like a root. Let me say

and not mourn: the world
lives in the death of speech
and sings there.