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.