to the absence of your own voice
filling your inner silence,
to the running commentary in
your head running out.
In the remaining space, hear
the bees on the allium, finches
flitting from sunflower to amaranth
and back. Be opened to the wind
in the oak, in the maple, in the viburnum,
in the corn, each plant’s voice unique.
Listen to the deeper hum of the earth, calls
of stars, the sun’s magnetic falsetto.
There are so many tones you can’t understand,
sounds you can’t perceive. Give in, live in
the unknown. Be opened.

You can listen to a conversation about this poem on the Reformed Journal Podcast.

Photo by Shino Nakamura on Unsplash