convincing us of whisper’s vast power
controlling thought’s rhythm, heart’s enthralling
echo, breathing’s payoff, each cleansing hour
keeping us honest. Its quiet calling
endures. So we respond like alert wolves
retreating from its startling sound in fear,
finding where hell really lies, our stark howls
signaling savage lives and stinging tears.
Or we surrender to its subtle song,
our solitary audience plying
respect with mute prayer, patient bows, and long
vigils of silence, faithful hounds lying
in wait for the soft voice to site our place
to paw earth, sniff air, start our sacred chase.
Roger Armbrust
June 12, 2012
