Friday, May 13, 2016

8149. GYRE

In the gentlest of ways, quiet and sound,
this love knows no boundaries at all. Over
this dim morning sky some bird is singing.
I listen for what it is  -  no value and little
understanding, accepting and small.
Here is the new day's appearance, like 
a heart in the midst of song, like some
gurgling water at my feet. While we 
know only what we do not know, the
harshness of the picture begins to soften
all its edges. Change happens over much 
time; move not, for things will change again.
Speak not, for a better noise will surely come.

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