Lichen is an ear
for stone, listening
to the wind,
to God in its formlessness.
Nothing is stronger
than that which we cannot grasp.
At night,
I walk into evening
breeze. My soul lived
here for a year,
nearly deaf.
The night was infinite;
it would not let me leave.
So I lived with sleeping flowers
until I smelled the seed. Until

I heard sound of my own infancy;
an even-
ing, glisten.
A Lichen
for an
ear