The Temple

words are hushed when spoken
dropped into  silence to fade
in depth of water blue as
distant pale ice, still as frozen earth
stretching to forever from the shore
all memory of summer gone.

the evergreens reach silent    
from their secret places deep
within the shadowed clefts between
cold-haunted dunes,
slow air steeped in spice of pines
their rough skins rich
with hints of red and orange bright
against the dark of winter green.

the carpets of their fallen needles
deny the fall of footsteps
and quiet hiss of frozen softness
kept at bay from underneath
the spread of branches
by sleeping foliage
entombed in shrouds of snow.

the sand the sign of slow erosion
glows warm in faded winter sunshine,
beaten gold revealed by time and
near-forgotten storm now made
mere memory of wind and wave
by stillness so complete
its silence is alive.

this is the sacredness
of sleeping life
encompassing all things
this is the timelessness
between life's moments
the voicelessness of word that speaks
of truth and love to those who listen
this is the temple of the soul
the quiet temple of my heart.