Dring

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If you listen

you can hear it soft in the distance

a harp or a flutter of wings

song of wind against fragile leaves

whisper of velvet rain in trees

light as breath

clear as waterdrops

of icicles in spring.

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Frame

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How can I describe the scene for you

so you might feel as though

you see what it is my half closed eyes

rested upon that glowing hush of sky’s light?

Maybe today it is enough that I say it

and you believe my simple words framing

whatever arrives as what is real and sacred

beautiful in your own quiet way.