On Explanation

Ask me not always to explain. Sometimes words will break with the burden of their meaning, Strain under what first frost evokes in the heart. Silence is, in the midst of torrent, best To stretch across an evening's width As yards of dark brocade, Closing out the inadequate words On the tip of the tongue That would dissect the harvest of spirit And what the heart would inherit. Accept silence and know the releast a slow pulse brings to the sound of peace.