Noise

When the noise that surrounds begins to fade

and old truths bubble again to the fore

The question of what to make of them

permeates our awareness with gentle gestures.

Unseen spirits touch the skin, shut the eyes,

and soothe our hyperactive, modern minds.

In rare moments, the sphere of what we once believed

to be untouchable

becomes tangible, sacred, and alive.

--

The ticking of a clock operates

in this way too, a reliable companion to the

welcome stillness, its rhythm interrupted only

by sudden clashes.

After an insult, a meaty slap to the face.

Tick, tick...

In the morning, a weary splash from a cold tap.

Tick, tick...

--

As for the prayers that float from the realms

of those who take the time to ask,

do the Gods respond with perched messages?

Or, like discarded pieces of refuse that blow across

dusty lots in Sevilla, carried by Andalusian winds,

do they disperse into the expanse of the world,

simply becoming noise once more?

~

HPM

3/13/21