Such a deep silence surrounds me, that I think I hear moonbeams striking on the windows.
Early in life, when I first saw waterlilies on the ripples of a lake, I didn't think they were flowers which grew from the water, but rather flowers which were mirrored from the shore into the lake. So many flowers grow in the silent waters of our souls, and they unfold their petals over the glaze of our consciousness: they grow from within us, but we think them reflections from the external world.
In dreams, through longings, we can see— All latent in the dust of gold These forests that perhaps could be— But that will never, ever, grow.
