From a distant garden
I hear her murmuring
Like a clear spring
Flowing over smooth pebbles,
Through sun and shadows,
Under leaves and needles.
I hear her voice, not what she says,
Her sound, but not her words:
I hear what's left of her words and what came before--
Semi words, undefined, like ***** of cotton
Shaped like drifting clouds
Like the sound the curtains make
When the wind blows in,
Or the sound a fly makes
Buzzing on a screen.
Woolly, fuzzy, smoky half-words
Rub my ears like kitten's fur and move on
Like tiny tumbleweeds with no special destination.
Comforting not to be alone:
In the silence that defines everything
So good not to be alone.