When we halt our inner converse
the universe is still, like a bold
mouse pausing, not to be espied.
When our monologue ceases
our earth is quiet like sunlight
drifting through afternoon lace
like the distant sigh of an old furnace,
the murmur of leaves in spring wind.
Cacophonous our mind’s production
uproarious the raving day within
until we pause to recover
our whole, calm spirit.
Clear the evening angelus bell
hushed the noonday train yard
soft the parlor cat sleeping
bright the air in deepest woods.
This our harmony
this our own cathedral
we err to leave it for the mind outrageous
we could live our lives in sacred dwelling.