BOOKS DON'T SAY

Beyond the sand is the sea

and beyond that who knows?

Books say Africa and Europe

and places further that

I’ll never get to.

Beyond the end of the day

lies night, lie poems,

lie thoughts that sleep
                          throughout the day.

Though why this should be so,

books do not say.

Beyond the sound of song

is the voice of one who,
singer knowing,

still is not known,

and yet the words still come,

gifts as they are,

to surprise singer and listener alike:

and yet, you know

we still don’t know
                           where they come from.

After all this time,
all this music, 

who cares?

Deep within the trees,

folded within soft leaves

lie beautiful lives as yet unseen.

But if we take the time to hold

and open, leaf by leaf,

what lights there are exposed.

What beauty in leg and claw

What spots

in colors we never expected.