Invisible Songs

Invisible Songs

Butterflies have a small song that hums
so deeply within the breast, that their breath
skips a beat, and if no one is listening,
the song is lost.
Even the ladybug, in her red armor,
offers a voice, to the energy of air,
but if no one is listening, there is no proof
that her hum was ever there.
All unknown injuries to nature and to God,
slip through the human heart of shrubs.
It is the listening that never perfects itself,
that never notes the fragrance through pine wind,
that could communicate a knowing of sorts.
People do not like the hint of things.
It is a soft bruising, to the tired head
that dreads effort, or perhaps only fears
the entanglement of music,
the way it may rise or fall at will.
The unknown way of things too delicate
to shout from the railings.
If there is a song some place,
in butterflies or bees,
most people believe,
it is nothing more than the reverb
of static or wires.
If there was anything more,
they would have heard.

(image…butterfly weed)

One thought on “Invisible Songs

  1. This reminds me of the culture described in Mary Saracino’s novel, Heroics. I reviewed it in Return to Mago. If you can’t get the book, read my review, which will give you a taste. The characters believed exactly this that you wrote of, that bees, the trees, the wind-everything-have their own languages and sing. It’s a beautiful concept, as is your poem.


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