The grass shares

Its morning dew 

on my feet.

madly 

falling for silence 

I am aged.

silence is gold

when everything is 

in harmony.

celebrating 

the silence

I make no sound.

the poet 

celebrates little things 

like a child.

my companion

the sound of my breath 

in and out.

silence amplifies 

the sound of dew drops 

the loudest at night.

silent nights

her teeth grinding 

I wish to be deaf.

like mirrors

his haikus reflect

upon himself.

basho

writes haikus

in my brain.