The Menagerie

How do you speak
of something that can’t be named—
only ever heard
as a whisper
carried on troubled winds?

Even a gossamer
wishes it could be
so delicate.

A stillness only nature knows—
wild and untamed,
yet more cautious
than a first step
when everything
looks like the edge.

Where the wild things are,
the boy inside
howls
into the stillness
without a note.

The menagerie watches.
Not afraid.
Just aware.

It sees the peace.
The calm beneath the waves.
The part of him
that never needed a cage—
just a place
quiet enough
to stay.