The singing night

the air is singing the stories of
oh – hear it!
only interrupt the path of our arresting
and attend even a moment to
the smell of the night
the familiar way the lobster sticks to the soft smoke-grilled shell
and the tendril of crab in butter
you gave me
the bite of mint floating in bourbon
photo (3)
if we lean into our senses
 we will hear what underlies it all
insect cymbals rattling, banging
and then falling
like a starling’s murmuration
lyrical, other worldly
and such a friend to the ear
and heart
this isn’t Puget Sound
where the night hush
sinks into the ground with the dew
and only the “whash” and plop of the waves
on the rocks
these singing nights
are heavy wool blankets
and fire breath
pull it in, blow it out
and feel it
rising and falling
like labor
and love-making
and the changing embers
glowing in new shape and form
which is friendship
last night we heard a whole song
in and between soul-filling
the glow of the fire
the word of the ivory-fingered gospel
and the picking of strings and story
of mamas and look-out towers
of failure
and birth
and the epiphanied treasures
that are mystery
we heard a whole song of songs
and story
in the treasury of music
which is our lives
each one
soft to the touch
to love and lyric and laughter
such beauty
and truth
is almost
too much to bear
This entry was posted in Music, Poetry, Spirituality and tagged , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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