to be tickled by sound
by the humming of souls
when caressed into trance
when the speech is a blur
in a puritan church
dazzled into space
where the voice is prepared
by reverberant hall
and the daydreaming mass
and the thousands of ghosts
in the spell of the organ
stuck in the spider's web
and lying on your back
when your mom reads a story
and you now know the past
when a teacher bent over
to pencil on paper
and all senses were buzzing
in deep concentration
and maybe they whisper
but I am not looking
I love the confusion
on the back of a horse
who is grazing on grass
and the sun is on fire
and a girl tells her story
while the flowers are listening
or the brushing of blades
and an ant on my arm
and the tricks of the creek
and the breeze in the maple
ever living and dying
to be loved without question
