13 Apr 2026: The Voice

The wind without tongue whispers to the heart

through the swaying boughs and dancing leaves.

Her words, many-faced,

pierce spur-wise the wheel of the sun

rolling over moss-kissed lips.

There are penetrating

alphabet truths

in every direction.

Would you listen?

Not just listen, but deeply!

She brings rain and shine

to your twiching little ear

as your wiskers wet with strawberry seeds.

The true hearing empties the mind.

The skull, a cavern running strange water

through cracks,

deposits minerals that grow

clear,

bright,

and fractured.

The air is still,

and nothing has ever been said.