Put your ear
down close to your soul and listen hard. ~Anne Sexton
There is another voice that speaks,
a poem with lines that drape softly like garland upon the
rails.
I hear it like a child’s cry.
I hold it that way too!
It is a message that bears no envelope,
and a wingless bird that still shall sing.
There is no thunder bolt of lightning.
No trembling beneath bare feet.
Just the soft whisper of a certain knowing
that only night stars can surely speak.
Its absence is a deeper ache
like the kind in an
old man’s bones.
For lonely hands hold love like reigns on a galloping horse.
Trying to stop it from fleeing too far off course.
And it is surely a weary occupation
trying to be a god of greater things,
when we do not learn to listen
for heaven is trying
to speak.
