ForestMusic300字
with hymns to meat and moon -
When the great gray owl in the pine
asks who with his curious song -
my spirit dances.
I know not who wrote the grand
symphony, but when the loon adorns
the sun that sets so gently into clear
waters with an answer to my flute -
larger questions ignite me.
The capelin voices of a thousand
tree frogs play the chorus of spring
to the echo of the first nation's
ghost drums, as if the twittering
woodcock need the beat
to describe endless circles.
Cicadas drone the heady elixir of
summer to imagined rhythms of corn
that grows inches overnight, the murmur
of the creek knows the sound of
clearer waters, bound by gravity
to flow south with the geese, those
Troubadours of autumn.
These are the songs that know me...
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ForestMusic300字
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