Never Stop Listening

Longing for conversation without words,

that language we seem to share with so few.

Not the habitual words we use,

nor the handshakes, shrugs, nods,

smiles, but something deeper.

This language of which I speak

is not being spoken of directly.

The words here point generally,

a broad gesture, a sweeping hand.

All is translated, rough metaphors--

the framing of a house that may be

a barn instead. This occult language

reads not left to right, nor right to left,

but in all directions with no center,

a deep ocean to all horizons,

a vast desert of light and shadow,

a night sky studded with silver light.

The things I say are also said elsewhere,

out of earshot. This soul-talk, this

shadow-song runs day and night,

a flowing creek while I doze,

a whispering wind as my day goes,

and the common talk and silences fill the air.

Find all your ears. Never stop listening.