Silence

In silent moments
a presence sublime
fills the void
between my breaths
and a certain grace
the calyx of my self.
Let me be
an empty flute for Thy breath to pass through
the clay in the potter's hands to be moulded
the misty clouds that dissipate in the light of dawn
the tall grass that sways to the rhythm of the wind
the clear lake that reflects the mountains
the leaves that flow gracefully with the stream.