I ponder a tune,
ethereal and bright.  If it ever exists,
what would it sound like? Would it be the laughter
of a child's delight or the soothing  hush of the moonlit
night? Perhaps a melody of stars' soft embrace or a gentle
breeze's tender trace. Would it echo like ripples on tranquil
seas,  or  dance  like  leaves  in  autumnal  trees? I ponder  a
tune, ethereal and bright, but could that sound be within,
out of sight? In smiles of beloved, in gentle embrace,
in moments  of  stillness, whenever hearts pray.
Perhaps in memories, a glimpse of what's
been through. Maybe  it sounds like
home, almost like déjà vu.

Ω

~
Major blue empty:
first listen to the weather pattern;
the scaffolding remains,
but the holding songs
of color are threadbare;
simulacra of imperfection
simply swirls like seagrass,
a pointillist matrix
of rainfall rustles
gathering scene -- nothing
stands on its own initially;
but after a few localized
moments it collects
to articulate this silence,
as each sound looms and subsides
in the garden of
selective speculation.
~