So Much We Say
by Geoffrey Heptonstall

An apple in the orchard ripens
ready to be taken as the fruit
of a natural curiosity
for available desires
that entice our innocence.
Then is the matter of invention
on the earth in motion.
The bones of history
engendered in the wild
now feel tamed by human toil.
Suffering seeks the mercy
of Providence coming and going.

There are voices close and clear
from a cluster of utterances
echoing in a growing awareness.
Meaning is likely to be found
in signs of understanding.
There may be love in this
when lips part with promises.
These thoughts are written with silence
I take care not to spill.
There are ways of saying well
what no-one wants to hear.
So much we say is silence.



 

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