The air is muggy hot
cicadas buzzing, whirring
I like the white noise
when my head is churning.
The whole of existence
the current of time
it loves me with insistence
that I listen to the rhyme
of beating wings and
wind blown leaves.
I hear it like an infant
nubile (new bile)
and the anger creates dissonance
a counter to my smile.
And I cannot ask.
I cannot need.
There is no mask.
I am just me.
The Universe is pleading with my heart to see...
and I see it.
I feel it in my being
like current rushing
strong and steady.
My hands become heavy.
My feet become roots.
The soil is my boots.
And there I hear you calling...
that invocation
my elation
... and I have always known it.
Your voice is like a mooring dock
I am fixed upon it's spot.
And when I feel it
I know
you feel it.