Aural Bindings
I listen for you
and sometimes you come
in the softness of the rain
footsteps light
leaving no trace
of your presence.
Sometimes you crack
and crunch
like the sun’s warmth
drying and wiping the tears
from the soil’s face.
Sometimes you whistle
through the limbs
and leaves,
a mournful arrival
heralding challenges ahead.
I listen for you
as you call
for me.
Do you ever hear their voices in the rain? On the wind? In the crunch of gravel or the groan of the bones of your house? Those we miss are never truly forgotten, but as much as we wish them to come around again, sometimes things passed on are better left just that. It doesn’t mean that we should stop listening, though.
For whom do you listen?
American writer