chorus (20180321)

i think i hear you
but i have to strain
to be sure
turn off the flashlight
because the white disc of light
seems to hum and it is easier
to listen for you in the dark
disengaging every other sense

a thousand thousand croaking voices
sing at once if not as one

a little rain seems to have
resuscitated you
and your desiccated brethren
hidden by the low tree line
hidden by the cover of night
your song amplified by low clouds

each little voice
a pair of little wings
each pair of wings
lifts my soul a fraction of a fraction of an inch
such a small amount for any
given voice
but such a chorus
raises me skyward
the thousand thousand voices

in gratitude from my great height
i want to yell through the leaves
across the lanes of traffic
thank you frogs
goodnight frogs
but all i manage is a smile
and a bit of a croak

17 thoughts on “chorus (20180321)”

  1. Fantastic – love “a thousand thousand croaking voices / sing at once if not as one”. Somehow with frogs or birds, this is pleasant whereas with a crowd of humans just irritating. Likely my brain tries to decipher human overlapping whereas responds to frogs more like a percussion band jamming.

    1. It’s like listening to music in a language you can’t hope to understand. You might get it, but you’re never going to totally get it, which is kind of beautiful.

    1. Sheldon, my friend, I have no valid reason to complain. I took the day off today, the weather was beautiful, it was mostly stress free–I even got a nap in. How are you doing? I don’t come online nearly as much anymore, but I hope to change that with Nation Poetry Writing Month.

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