Sunday, August 19, 2012
All that noise
Saturday morning, awake before the heat,
before the first six o'clock bus rolls by,
a rattling iron can of metal parts,
before the whistle of boiling kettles
and clatter of pot covers.
Rest in the silence
that stays its hand on the land,
the quiet of trees remembering the swamp
and the song of crickets
in the reeds that accompany a new river.
Listen. How almost together, we wake
and break the day,
our buzz beating to life.
from our machinery:
penetrating bones and stones.