One Silence

The monk sits—

breath neither held

nor released.

Before him,

a cherry tree blooms

into the cool hush of night,

each petal

a moment

already falling.

Above,

the full moon

offers its light

without choosing

what to touch.

Beyond,

the volcano sleeps

under snow—

fire at rest

within stillness.

No distance

between root and sky,

between ash and blossom,

between watcher and seen.

A petal drifts—

or the mountain exhales—

or the monk thinks—

but nothing separates

long enough

to be named.

One silence

wears many forms:

flower, flame, face, moon—

and keeps none of them.