I Listen

I listen to my heart, my mind,

To those I hold most dear,

To child and soul of dirt-poor town,

The old, disturbed, to those let down,

To slaves, the weak, to refugees,

The homeless, humble, kind and meek,

I listen to the sad, and those I loathe and fear,

I listen to the lost and dispossessed,

The drip of mist and drop of tear,

I listen as I hear the sound of love and gentle kiss,

The beat of wing against the air in this my early light,

I listen to my breath this day, my dream and thirst of flight.

. . .

I can only focus on one sound at a time, and when I do, I am listening...

An unexpected sound might catch my attention by its volume, difference, or pattern. When I read I am also captivated by a word's meaning and association.

The mystery of a poem is that its music can be listened to both aloud and in the mind.