Paul Willason Poet Free verse

The Dance

There is a sentence
waiting to be spoken,
a thought given 
to the morning to find 
a voice when all is still 
and each sound
lifts above the quiet
like prayer.

I hear the water 
murmuring incantations
over rocks, insects deep
in throated shadows reciting
their repetitive chants
and inside the isolation
of an ear, a pulse 
counting out my life 
in heartbeats.

What can I assemble
to place on the doorstep 
of understanding, 
what insight can I wrestle
from these sounds
before they thin
and seep 
into an infinite silence
when it seems 
that all of creation 
is dancing joyously 
around its rim.

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Lin Lane January 5, 2024 at 5:12 AM “… the doorstep of understanding” that’s such a fantastic line, Paul. Often, I’ve been tempted but afraid to walk across such a threshold. Wrestling with what I thought I might discover would be in opposition to what was behind that unopened door. You feed your readers food for thought. Paul Willason January 6, 2024 at 2:31 AM Your comments are always carried by that clear mind of yours, Lin, and very much valued. Particularly grateful to learn that my words provide something to ponder...important for any poet...gives a lift to the pen.. Sincere thanks.