they lock fingers
and arms
faces brush and
shift closer as they
whisper ancient rustling songs
that curl in and around
their wondering hearts
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"let the beauty we love be what we do" rumi
my bicycle blog
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6 comments:
a necessary response without too many words.
Often, those ancient rustling songs are my lifeline.
A beautifully spiritual poem, and loving dialogue among the trees. These past several poems or yours have just been so uplifting!
thanks rick . . . i've been floundering along wondering what i'm trying to say and why . . . . . .steven
I love to watch the slow, steady reach that the trees make toward one another. It's sublime, as is the way they whisper to each other.
jo these trees reached outwards down and away . . . . steven
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