sculpture by Giovanni Strazza
psalms of fledglings braid delicate lavender chords
through temporary thoughts, quietly fleeting
as dusk slowly paints various hues of night upon the sky ...
dry grass rustles with unseen movements,
a sudden sense of caution as predators casually stalk their prey
stones keep memories deep inside their crevices,
precious revelations of ancient moments
when they were liquid heat swirling within the cores
of mountains rising so far above them now
as they lie muted, fractured and scattered upon the valley floor
chiaroscuro swaths of shadow and light
distract from Fibonacci's schemes and screams of laughter
just beyond our reach of comprehension, of sight and sound
where were we when the world was new,
when life began to unfurl so graciously?
were we too occupied with conquest, even then?
separated by forests, deserts and oceans, some turned left as others veered right —
did concentric circles ever mend themselves or do\they reminisce alone,
a single strand searching darkness for meaning?
how did low moans, fisted wails, secretive murmurs
and knowing grunts ever stretch to become languages,
to be spoken aloud, yet remain misunderstood?
have we gone too far, yet not come far enough
to save ourselves from our thundering hooves?
has music rejected melody only to embrace echoes of defeat?
be still for once and listen ...
do you hear the thrum of your own heartbeat
and that of another? can you hear the violent thrust of blood
as it surges through narrow tributaries of veins,
seeking vibrant exhalations of tides as they slowly carve the shore?
can you be silent, be ever vigilant
as clouds drift, then shift slightly in the sky,
etching its breadth with secret hieroglyphs?