Don't Tell

Don't tell.
Hold as an offering
on your tongue
the sweetest secret
left unspoken.
Try not to say, "I love you,"
too often.
Let it glow through your eyes.
Let it glimmer from the things
they see, mirrors of
cedar bark and fern frond.
If you keep your Word
it will warm the meadows,
arousing Spring flowers.
Don't tell.
Let love's hiding lift your hand
in the most ordinary gesture,
the way you stir honey
into tea, the way you
wash your grandmother's cup,
take up your father's hoe,
hold an heirloom pear
from the tree he planted,
walk barefoot through
the clover at night,
your body tingling
with stars.