I haven’t heard the birds sing for awhile.
It’s me, who’s not listening to their song.
In the meantime, I’ve traveled many miles,
worrying myself about all that’s wrong.
So, I sit still and silent in this here chair
and listen for the sound of the sacred.
I breathe in this old dust floating in the air
and sit and sigh and wait to be awaken.
As the clock sings morning, the doorbell rings
a friend here for a dollop of comfort.
And in his bag he’s brought all his past pains
to show me just how much he has suffered.
But in that moment of broken despair,
he opens his bag and out sings a sparrow.