Everything Speaks

We live within a veil of illusion,

collecting scores of records on accounts by and 

for something that may always elude us.

We are drawn in and yet — in is out,

though reversal may seem skewed to the

unstirred practitioner.

A far away voice calls;

the creek rattles against the rocks;

the sunset flashes through the extremities 

of a starkly clad fellow,

or so it seems.

And in a dream

and in a poem we may know to

consider the underpinning of the verse.

Can we look too on the world as such

in the dissection of the universe composed

through our senses?

Can we hear how it sings,

answers, laughs and cries with us?

How dense is the language of men to distract

us from the symphony in the trees?

The words are

at the same time

too little and too much.