Poem

Poem
By Kyle Holub
Gila Wilderness, NM
October 23, 2018


I am known to the Knowers 
as one who hear the songs
of healing compassion.


One who listens but cannot sing them. 
Not yet a Knower myself. 


My intentions are good, but
not yet pure.
My words can help, but
not yet heal. 


I have not yet come to know
the extent of suffering.
But one day, one life.
Maybe soon.


A sycamore branch points to 
that which cannot be spoken,
a river flows into it,
a boulder falls on top of it,
because of it. 


To interpret this quiet 
is to die the most worthy of deaths.
To re-member the dismembered.
To become whole again.


I am human being wrong.
I am spirit being ignored.
Hush now, and listen being.