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.
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