become a part of
near silence
no longer a listener
Savoring quiet
now a participant
an honorer of what
is too intimate with
silence, usually,
to be heard
Always there
and rarely shown
unless and until
you become one
with the bird's left
wing, flicking the
water
Bird Soloist, Duet,
Trio... distinctive
separate voices singing
songs you don't know
how to name but
whose heart tugs
at yours
sing along
sing along
sing along
Your imitation
pitiful something
like
senk abong
senk abong
senk abong
your bird tutor
so patient
tries again
sing along
sing along
sing along
you fail again
sink asonk
sink asonk
sink asonk
you sketch,
in frustration
seeing this
lovely differently
now that you
study its wings
its tail its voice
you look up again
and he has left
tears stun your eyelinds
your wiser self says
"He didn't leave you.
He just moved along."
your chest burns with
"if only I could have
sung sing along
instead of
sink asonk
or senk abong maybe
just maybe..."
You sink into the
sand and let it support
your crestfallen
muscles
Looking into the sky
you somehow feel better
and wait for your
next bird teacher
to arrive
how are you?
such lovely piece, glad to be here.
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Posted by: Jingle | April 13, 2011 at 05:41 PM