I dreamed I had died
and didn’t tell anybody.
It was my death;
none of their business.
When I met the angels
they were all the same
birds I’d been hearing,
uncomprehending,
all my life. And when
I woke I recalled the way
their singing felt but no
words, not in this world,
though I’m now convinced
there’s more joy to be had
than we ever believed
we might allow ourselves.
So I listen to the birds
in the breathing trees.
Published on June 27, 2018 01:36