The full moon comes, the solstice goes
The flower moon, alit like rose
The silence of the moonlit rose
The flower moon is alit with rose

In the silence of the howling breeze
In the gentleness of the space we keep
I’ll tell you what they taught to me
Words that flowed on from the breeze

They paused they lingered once again
Waiting for the gap — count to ten
When the wind would sway the pines

Can you keep this secret of mine
and those lonely secrets hard to keep
would be floating in the breeze

murmuring, and in that coolness

If you make the moment freeze

You will hear the incantations of the trees.