It is true.
\nI can talk for hours to myself,
\nmuch as I did as a child.
\nLike Jackie talking to his train
\nand living out destinies
\nup and down the track.
\nWe are meant to sing,
\nto dance,
\nclap our hands.<\/p>\n
I celebrate the rhododendron
\noutside my window
\nwith its pink flowers.
\nThe morning that holds it,
\nand the air
\nthat has a thousand bands
\nof frequency,
\nsongs, talking.
\nMuch ado about nothing and everything,
\nand the universe singing to me.<\/p>\n
My ears picking up here and there,
\nnotes, rhythms, mantras,
\nechoes, conversation,
\nto add my two cents,
\nwrite some sentences.
\nSpeak into the ether
\nand say good-by to poems.<\/p>\n
It\u2019s a din outside,
\na concert at my desk,
\na playground in the street.
\nAnd behind it,
\nthe purity of a great silence,
\nfrom which
\na whisper sounded,
\nlet it begin,
\nand we\u2019ve been carrying on
\never since.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
It is true. I can talk for hours to myself, much as I did as a child. Like Jackie talking to his train and living…<\/p>\n