i hear you in ageless ways,
in fleeting and passing moments.
i hear you in the low range of
soprano trumpets, in happy screams
of curly-haired children, in
the inaudible hiss of my leaking
sink faucet. i hear you in art,
cubism especially (you are all motion)
and i hear you in mondrian, all
colored inside the lines. i hear
you in the wax they put on apples
in the grocery store so people will
buy them (aesthetics are everything)
and i hear you in the stray wheel
on the bottom of the shopping cart.
i hear your voice in the heartthrob
of a passing helicopter, in the
jackhammer that works on the road
between me and the highway. i hear
you in my sleep, but not in my
nightmares. i hear you in the rhythm
of walking feet, i hear you early
in the morning when it is grey outside
and the geese are still sleeping.
i hear you daily, i crave you nightly,
i dream you constantly, i want you simply.