Sing Me Again

Sing me again.
Sing me the you-ness of you.
Forest my mind with your timbre’d voice
so that my vales and creeksides
quake with your warm breath.
Let the stream coursing below in dappled laughing light percolate the meadow of my heart, a fertile grassland as spacious and level as the horizon.
Sing me again
until my inner landscape, burnt and steaming still from last season’s fire, becomes the Hoh,
a rainforest, moist and cleansed
canopied, ever green,
dripping and soft below with the ferns of delight and
succulent berries of beauty.
Sing me again, until the bird-small voice within me
in some ancient pine on a high dolomite peak
joins in with confidence, with purity, and with love.
And that song, like a cloth of cirrus,
covers this broad land foretelling change.
Sing me again. I remember this melody. I know these words.
Sing me again while I sing you.

 

 

© 2002 Homer Christensen

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