It sounds like sand
On a wooden floor
Slips from lips so dry
And passes too quickly for the eye

Between spirals and stars
The sound travels
An auditory journey
No where to go and in such a hurry

Through the universe
Never to disperse?
An echo alive
A reverberated verse

Ears might strain
For some resonance
If there were such things
As longing little beings

A soulless, size-less signal
Defying the clueless gods
And certainly sensible laws
Existing, surviving without cause

Here it is back again
Borne on strings and waves
Muddled with age or ringing with rage
Or just the same made smoother
by its travels’ many lathes.

And it begins again
To the end, to the end

04/12/2007

Posted on 04/12/2007
Copyright © 2025 Tracy Ellen