Silence
Terrance Oberst

We tell time by the sun,
squabble when the moon ascends.
If we could we would worship
the massive revolutions
of the stars,
we would wish again and again
to be loved or at least
touched by a flicker
of compassion.

I remember that my lover
has been gone for three days.
I know she has returned
from her hegira
wiser and kinder
from her communion
with the cauldron
of nature.
And I tremble
from her observation
that the darkness
underlying the forest
will see no light,
but within its presence is also
the unlit, burning bush
of the cosmos.