Music stirs on the trembling blades of grass,
a symphony erupts on evening's folded head.
Melodic whispers from the swaying reeds,
drunk on dew that hangs from budding leaves.
Bull frogs are serenading, followed
by the cicadas’ finely tuned violin
We listen in silent reverie, while
comets paint our future ‘cross the sky,
filling us with strange sympathies.
We walk barefoot among thorny thistles
and the wild things that perch
in the immense shadow of man.
The flowers unfold in tinkling laughter
and the creak tugs our minds out from under us.
Together we roll on the floor of the world
and know:
“There is more to us as men”
