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This place is filled with noises
a den of delicate devices
brumm-humming away
between myself and soft spring

you can feel the brickle-bracks
as they clack down the way
calapping and zinging and ringing
and no one to feel responsible

but there is a silence I hear
all shimmering and light
slipping in amidst blangs and chortles
asking where in the breeze is the wind

can you not sing like the stars
laugh like the trees
dance like the flowers
and fly like the bees?

why travel this road in boxes and wheels
when dancing, you could sing your way
into the rising sea of dawns
and slip naked into the earth

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