Violin seeds,

how long will you lie fallow in soil

 so deep your roots will never end?

 Let the exotic rains and crystal pennies of sacred thoughts

 bring you a great draught of silence.

Silence is a strong rope that pulls you out of the ground

that many people spend their lives crawling and slipping and tripping inside.

Trust the rain of sunny silence to make you grow,

thorns and petals and all.

While the neon drivers and cardboard people crisscross the boardwalk

 as randomly as cereal thrown into a bowl,

 and the black distances from soul to soul increase—

oh, sweet, violin seeds, violin seeds,

 silence-born, shiny seeds, smaller than mustard seeds,

carry the pollen of promise in your wise growing stamen.

Violin seeds, grow over the bridges of despair.

Let the aroma of your silence

 fill up a shivering place called a world.