Close your eyes and listen,
The moon is humming a secret language,
There are voices in the water,
A song in the lurching throat of the toad.
Even the wood of each swamp shack
Rattles with the energy it means to be beamed
From sky-spirit to flesh and foot-sole.
The clouds are singing off-key,
Their opaque, open mouths spewing earth matter,
And stars are popping everywhere,
Flying into our eyes like monsoon sand.
There is a silent prayer
In the crazy way the elderly laugh,
The sickening wind-spray
Of crocus weed and spring seed.
There’s joy in any breath unlabored,
A sweet serenity in the intellectual
Questioning of death.
Shhh…pause for a moment and listen
To the breast-stroke of the bluegill.
The steady flight of a summer bird
Swimming the sky like an amateur land-sleuth,
Each eye shining like a set of porch-lights
Between wet woods and dead leaves.
Understand that life is merely an avenue.
You walk the street and follow the signs,
You laugh if you want at the way of strange things,
The hidden gems you find between
Concrete cracks that break into perfect halves
They way breakfast eggs never do,
Nor candle-wicks when they're too long to cut,
Stout of their wax snuffing light from shadow
So that the storm seems darker than it ever was
Until you wake to morning sunshine and bluebirds,to realize it never rained at all.
Written for a prompt at Toads.