LIstening deeply each morning
I try to carry it into my day. This groundedness
this attentiveness to things higher than my crown.
I hear here the voices in the head of those slumbering behind walls nearby
the clamor of children’s feet down the hallways from my west coast youth
ringings come to me of the church bells in an Italian village, gone off long before my existence.
Behind it all too, the moon dancing with the sun, the light of their tango slipping into the window at my side.