by Kent Reichert

We stand in the antechamber
at the juncture 
of silence and awe,
amid the revelation
that in order
to grasp,
one must first understand that silence;
hear the voice of unspoken words;
welcome the written word in its profound hush;
heeding its directive to be still.
It is 
in the instant the stone hovers just above
the surface of the pond,
that we perceive the fullness 
of each pregnant rest;
understand each note and tone
that left the ear alone
to consider,
to await.
Like a vessel becalmed,
or stars 
sighing in a distant firmament,
silence unveils the soul
in all its colors, 
its dreams,
its realities,
seeing through the glass facade of mirrors
to the truth of 
who 
we are,
in all our silver echo,
and know that
seeds grow soundlessly within the soil,
holding their radiant display
of floral hues
suspended,
neither absent nor present,
as one heavy with child.
The fullness of time
ushers each
to the boundaries
of silence.
Approaching sounds ripple,
grasping for the ear
as passing waves
and 
in that breath,
eternity pauses. 

A lifelong educator, Kent Reichert, holds a Master’s degree in Religion from Wake Forest University and a doctorate from UNC-Charlotte. A native of Southern California, he has spent the last 50 years living the North Carolina piedmont. His writing has appeared in The Dead Mule, The Dispatch and New Verse News, receiving a Best of the Net nomination for his poem Three Days by Rail from North Carolina.