The smell of snowmelt soaking the sandstone
Mud flats in the sun. The doe brushing her back
Against the juniper as another doe watches her
Without comment. The glance at the cracked face
Of the cliff, the smooth face of the watch. The clutch
In the gut that all this was yesterday, alone, calm,
And now it’s time to put it out of mind, to teach
About collective knowledge and the transition
To state societies, to answer rafts of questions
For a class packed into a room of painted bricks.
Maybe I don’t want the world to speak
To me, anymore. Its speechlessness sounds
Sweeter now. It's silence I’ve come to listen for.
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