The true words are not spoken

the real poems are not written

but rather

whispered into closed fists,

which are held against the heart.

The most beautiful scenes

are not captured in photos

but felt vividly

as a sprawling expanse

flourishing untouched,

unclaimed before us.

The deepest loves

are not requited glances

but observations

resolute in strength,

intangible in soul.

All these graces

All these truths,

are quiet.