Everything has its voice and

plays its pipes whenever it pleases:

Cloud reefs scraping

blue-frosted sky domes hale us with

cotton-candy cordiality and condensed,

wispy greetings;

crocuses and tulips bursting from bulb-wombs

wail like any newborns;

stones weathering layered

metamorphic epochs sing boulder sagas

that crumble into the gravel-voiced click-clacking of pebbles,

then to monotonic mixtures of dirt-ashes after

eons of crystalline recitation;

mountains echo uplifting histories;

rivers and oceans flood the ears with

torrential growls and roars of current news,

and then cocoon us with faint

susurrations of waves,

mimicking the lapping songs of lakes,

conversing with both fishers and fishes,

speaking with their hands for added

emphasis as they wave unceasingly;

creeks and brooks release

salutatory flows of rushing,

rippling lyrics to which jesting jays,

mocking-birds and black-humored crows respond;

trees chatter and bark

cords of pithy wisdom, keeping

all the languages of Life alive

within their phloem.


(Stanza Break)


When music from a sun-ripened cloud

shocks the air or joy bursts

from the heart, trumpeting like a daffodil,

then may Earth’s voices

reverberate within your soul.




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