what do I know
about time but that
she’s a live wire
running through
all the lives that ever live
their voices
a low hum within.
I sat still one day.
“listen to yourself,”
she whispered
“listen deep”
“your voice
isn’t wholly yours
it is the hum
of those around
and beyond
it is what you pull
out of yourself
in response
their harshness
—your anger
their kindness
—your love
it is
what you pass on.
be still, love,”
she whispers,
“be still.”
Poetry in Life 