at the end of the known

in the last years
so much leaving….

on the incoming clouds
a time of silence….

there are no words
for some kinds of change….

moments facing into
the whistling wind….

equipoint
between coming and going….

after the floods
words ebb

behind them
a negotiated peace….

life at the edge of living
seated at the end of the known….

poised between
earth and air

there is no teacher
there are no guides

no hope or blame
only listening….

no outer voice
but the quiet one….

everyone’s secret;
few seek

how i’ve loved
the noise of love….

how i’ve run
the well worn road --

only when i spoke my dreams
to the great listener

and watched them drift
into the evening sky

did i see
the truth was never love --

behind the love
is silence….

___________
©2012
beth anne boardman