It’s not easy to find the silence
behind traffic noise and the rush of a jet
dragging its contrails through the sky.
But here it is again in the in-between,
when I learn to listen long enough
to the call-and-response of birdsong,
to wind pulsing in the canopies of trees,
and every wing-flutter of the phoebe
who’s built her cup of a nest out of moss
and mud beneath the eaves of our house.
I know the stillness will last for just
a few beats before the roar of a Harley
takes over, and a tractor rumbles through
the rocky field outside my window.
So I sink into it while I can, as I do into water
so clean and clear, for a moment at least
I swear I can see to the bottom of everything.