If you listen
you can hear it soft in the distance
a harp or a flutter of wings
song of wind against fragile leaves
whisper of velvet rain in trees
light as breath
clear as waterdrops
of icicles in spring.
If you listen
you can hear it soft in the distance
a harp or a flutter of wings
song of wind against fragile leaves
whisper of velvet rain in trees
light as breath
clear as waterdrops
of icicles in spring.
How can I describe the scene for you
so you might feel as though
you see what it is my half closed eyes
rested upon that glowing hush of sky’s light?
Maybe today it is enough that I say it
and you believe my simple words framing
whatever arrives as what is real and sacred
beautiful in your own quiet way.
Something
or someone gnawed
through the screen so
now nothing may stop
the sea from gaining
entry
nor me falling
out.
From this rock
worshippers say
One Hundred Years past
Tom’s vision transcended
earthly bondage
Or was it just
he could paint in silence here
conjure colour from wings of passing loons
interrupted only by subtle
changes in the wind?