a storm, delivering its pulse
to my wrist.
a thought, a dance
without audible music.
two bodies laced with tones.
i wake daunted and silent,
listening for movement like a bird
with its head cocked to the world ...
my ear to your chest.
my hearing sense has shifted deep,
displacing my solar plexus.
the speaker is deaf
but the sounding, through replication and dialect,
is precise as this world will allow.
heavy with dawn, my prayers
are few. all patterned through
the repetition of day's
in singsong - simple rhythms.
appeals for and from
myself, with my heart
held up, transparent to
the mystery from which
it spun. set down - an idle spinning -
a hand, a giant metaphor
the great poet
tossing out a verse.
i am those few words.
i'm at loss to live them.
then came hope.
a simplerhythm.
a wavelength.
don't blink. you'll
miss it.
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