Do
U
.
.
.
heed natures call
can
U
.
.
.
hear souls fall
do
U
.
.
.
feel
the
r
i
pp
l
e
s
rebound.
L
I
ST
E
N
are
U
.
.
.
wired for sound.

to the nights where tomorrow looms bright as star graced eve
and glimpsed from sight, into obscurity and then
out of reach
where we make amends with the moonlight; so hesitant to outshine the sun
or rouse the sleeping child from bed
until dawn
our boats float down the riverbed where we watch them slide through black streams
and water cold and brilliant, passing timely
never stagnant
moving in and out of luminance with the cadence of age
following the maps in the sky there for those seeking though
never quite at place
carrying along the breeze, that shifts through the night
and the kisses of the rising sun before long, tall days
that feel like many
and into that daylight where tomorrow wanes and ripples and rises
like the edge of the horizon, against all that is
still

Quick,
quit your cage of crystal screens,
the virus here has came and been.
Seek trees with vines in times of need,
and see Sol
speckle kisses
on crisp new leaves.
Shake the dark rough hands of boughs and bark,
make them whisper the
histories of the parks.
Heed birdsong's swell, find dark clouds part,
as the timid breeze breathes
Earth's kinder art.
Let rocks and twigs crunch underfoot.
Free thoughts,
and give
that
life is good.