HEARKEN

It’s always a hearkening:

a glen appearing
out of nowhere
with the last lump
in my throat,
for the songs
withheld.


The Songs
and the Word
take umbrage,
in a knotted landing
away from
here
where everyone
plays tambourines.

     ***

A little music
escapes
the night.
It has something
to do with
the ladybirds.
They appear to you
with the azaleas growing.

A rectangle
of the earth
on my thumb
is a poem
for an abiding season.

A hearkening
to where
we all came from.


                *****

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