Matins

Listen -

hear them?

The thrush, the veery,

those backwoods birds

you almost never see

who rain their songs

through dark hemlocks

and maple thickets

to end all drought,

whose waterfalls blossom

in your ear, who open up

in you a space of rivers

and old woods you know

you can't hold, and yet

you come downhill home,

take off your shoes, greet

your family at breakfast,

and the slow rubato flow

widens its delta in your morning:

Two old cats who don't like hurry

wrap around your ankles

and someone who's been humming

comes to you

smiling.

(c) Copyright 2000. The Christian Science Publishing Society

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