When to Do Nothing
The ocean has taken my voice.
Chewing on shadows, moonlight strews
white-gold leaves before a chapel
of sand and bones that speak for me.
Bright things rest easy in sky’s wake.
I mourn the unthinkable, the stories lost
with lineage and pray for the wisdom
of when to do nothing.
Fruiting vines find a way to climb, stealing
sunlight from plumeria, then sharing
branches with birds and lizards.
There is always room for the unimagined.
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Ron