When They Speak

Listen to what they tell you,

for they are wise

in the ways of mist and cedar,

learned of folding mantle

crust fractures

jutting skyward.

Monuments to a hundred million years

of labour pains.

 

Stop.

Just stop talking.

Stop cutting.

Stop grinding.

Stop burning

and hear with a child’s mind

new first lessons,

for your teacher

is your father

and your mother

and your charge;

that you would steward over

fern and beast and fish and bough.

 

Always the recalcitrant,

a poor student.

So now, listen

to the catechism

of falling rain beating,

running into dirt,

feeding seedlings,

blossoming into new ideas.

Bursts of color

that are thoughts,

birthed on mountain sides

by newborns

and madmen.

 

Hear life living,

for to be

you must learn to acknowledge existence.

Never let these rain drops

fall to mountain tops

and deaf ears.

 

HG – 2016

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