Standing amidst fields
Of wheat I
Hear the delicate
Sound of wind
Pushing the kernels
Together like my
Mother’s brush on
Linoleum floors in
Other people’s homes
Standing here free
From those days
So long ago
This sound sings
Now to me
Degrees of simple
Silence a place
Of quiet forgiveness
For her many
Years of sadness
There is one
Thing that every
Living thing does
At least once
And it’s not
The thing that
You’re thinking now
But perhaps it’s
The thing that
You’re doing now
It’s this smile
Way out here
Is the roost
Of few things
Namely angels and
Ideas and aviary
Simply because from
Here one does
One of two
Things take flight
Or fall flatly
Both are marvelous
Because it’s only
Here out on
The skinny branches
Can miracles happen
Imagine being a
Fish that just
Took the bait
And is being
Reeled in while
Seeing an eagle
Over head and
Wishing if I
Must be caught
Why couldn’t it
Be up there
Soaring rather than
Way down here
In a boat
The sky is
Filled with plump
Blimps tethered to
Trees by the
Dropped lines of
Falling silent rain
Above halos of
White sunshine hovers
Like deep stark
Snowdrifts on rooftops
Apt to fall
At the least
Shake of warmth
Above that days
Blue blemishes peek
Like curious children
Through the knotholes
Of weathered pine
As the deep
Rich aromatic brew
Wafts beside me
And silence silences
Every other thing
HARLAN DIDRICKSON 