This streaming sky,
dark as a concrete river
clouded with dim-seen fish dips low,
an ocean of marble,
veined with lightning streaks.
Listen to its secrets booming loud,
though no one hears.
The long, slow night flows,
feeding tree roots with silence,
breathing moisture into leaf mould,
waves washed against trunks—
sentinels.
Their voices are there,
put your ear close to the heart and listen.
Perhaps later,
with the sun in our eyes
and the liquid joy of over-spilling ditches
bright with frogs
and bending boughs dripping with birdsong,
we will hear the clamour of life,
the plea to live and let live.