Sound
  • Sound over the empty space
  • the empty place
  • in the center of my self.
  • Sound as breath sounds
  • over the hollow heart
  • of a bamboo flute.
  • Sound a pure, long tone:
  • vibration of nothing
  • moving inside of nothing.
  • Songs are the sisters
  • of emptiness.
  • Notes are born in the spaces
  • inside instruments.
  • Music in my dreams
  • pours from the throat of a bird
  • nesting in the undented pillow beside me.
  • My body wraps in sleep around empty space,
  • like whispered prayers
  • wrapping the sacred silence of a cloister.
  • This is the song
  • of steps walking hollow on unpeopled streets,
  • the lyrics of conversations
  • spoken to silence.
  • This is the song of eating and drinking
  • the empty, icy places between the stars.
  • Ring like bells on the far side of mountains,
  • or like a lacquered nail tapping crystal
  • in a hall with a table yards long
  • set for one.
  • Sound the orchestral chord of a footfall
  • on moss among redwoods
  • in the dim first or last hours of day.
  • Drum the measure of waves
  • murmuring caresses to the hull’s perfect curve
  • parting warm seas in a moonless night.
  • Sing the arias of wind in columned canyons
  • confessing to the red and yellow flesh
  • of mummified oceans.
  • Sound the depth of hollow, untouched places
  • under seas
  • within the earth
  • among the stars
  • inside my skin.
  • Sing one pure celestial note,
  • born in a cathedral volume
  • of still, empty space.

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