What Silence Might Say

I watch the bowl, held
On trembling fingertips.
The bowl itself is steady.
Being struck,
Metal and wood resonate
In sympathy.
The bowl hums.
Its vibration slows, and stills.

I watch the pond, willing
Ripples of surface agitation.
Rain falls, reaching bottom.
It is all accepted, taken in,
Received.
Light dances, currents, atoms, spirit
Flows.
Sympathetic resonance, this
Not so minor miracle.
The water stills.
Shadows lengthen.

The bowl hums, deeply.
The pond dances and stills.
I watch my fingers stop
Trembling.
And wonder
What it is.
And whether gratitude can express
Or ever be
Payment in kind.

~ Jennifer Scarlott