Alphabet
a
Down the lazy slope of a small valley I drive,
distracted by the flatness of white sky ahead.
To offer my prayer I ask meekly for your voice.
b
What I want most is return. Yet I know bliss
cannot be sought. It simply comes.
It comes, and I return to the clear river of lucidity
between forget and remember. I am held by a chorus
of silence. It is the reason I have to speak.
To hear your voice with mine and not know the difference.
c
In my first cup of coffee I discover grace forgotten.
Down the lazy slope of a small valley I drive
and become the world for the first time.
The world is a silver necklace,
I watch you trace the chain like an echo
as we wait for the train. I left the city
of trains for a country of highways.
The clouds slowly depart,
the good ones linger,
and color returns to the earth.
Sing in unison.