Listening (Poetry)

Deathly, in your goth-styled meditation
with eyes downcast — the fireweed’s pointed screen
towering — pink-flowered vegetation
in contract to you black mood’s waking dream

lids heavy — closed in mystic concentration
you stand so still — your look a world apart
far away in time’s imagination —
that inner voice known only to your heart

the graves around you lost in the confusion
of summer’s leaf — the greenness bursting wild
and you — your instinct tuned to its profusion —
can hear the spirit call to you — its child.