Music

 

For years you have paused at

this moss-crowned stump

and listened 

 

for something

 

sent 

like a dispatch

from its rough-hewn world

 

a word, perhaps

or a single, unwavering note

heard

like other music

 

 flying feathered 

among trees

or moondrawn from 

rocks, brightly painted 

by tide

 

but 

it was only a stillness

that sounded,

moss-muffled and deep

rooted

 

and you heard nothing

until 

the day you listened 

not for the stump, but to

the stillness

 

and heard 

within your own

silence

 

the music 

of everything.