Don't Tell

Don't tell.
Hold the offering
on your tongue.
Leave the sweetest
secret unspoken.
Try not to say, "I love you,"
too often.
That will store up its glow
in your eyes.
Let it glimmer from
shattered things that fall
like mirror shards around you.
Keep your Word
and it will warm the meadows,
arousing flowers.
Learn a silent gracious bending
from willows and ferns,
to let love's hiding lift your hand
in gestures of the ordinary,
the way you stir honey into tea,
the way you wash your
grandmother's cup,
hold an heirloom pear
from a tree your
father planted,
gristle your fist around
his original hoe,
keep vast intimate distances
in the otherness of your gaze,
walk barefoot
through midnight clover,
your body tingling with stars.