Silent Retreat at a Trappist Monastery

by Ann Boaden

Sounds crumble. Words
Evaporate.
What speaks
is the breath
of this silence. I take it
into my breath. It is deep
as ocean, light
as these leaves
wind-skimmed
to silver, wide
as this stubbled land. Only
the birds and a lone plane
mottle it. Their echoes are
brief as passing clouds
over this immense, enfolding sky.