When did the listening stop?

When did the listening stop?

How long?
When did the music seem
to slip from the page?

The harmony, the rhythms,
the beating of drums—
a hollow ache

Hidden in the trees
a voice…
A guttural sound
split the skeletal branches
of the barren trees.

The solitary song of
the owl carried on
like a ripple longing
to greet the shore.

but then it was gone
Lured ‘into’ so many
things to do, to accomplish,
to get done.

Can you hear yourself?

sinking softly into
the nest of being
the dawn preparing
its rise.

A red-bird hits a
high note….
it matters not
if anyone takes notice.

Today…I AM

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