There is a silence here
that is not mere absence of words. 
It envelopes me as I sit by the pond. 

It lies below the wind
that hushes the trees, whispers
to nodding grasses. 

It holds the drone of bee
slap of submerging frog
brush of ripples against cattails. 

It frames the liquid melody
of birdsong that falls out
of every green hiding place. 

It pauses outside the chapel
renews itself, again,
on the chanting voices of women.