Just Listen

Just Listen

It is the space that’s there but not quite seen

For some, the statue amidst the travertine

It’s a queasy pang from doing wrong

But alerts you to the importance of the Wood Thrush’s song

It may be the way the sun burns through

A rain filled sky, like someone knew

Each time I sat quiet to meditate

Even the homeless woman

delivered a message of beauty

free of hate.