I listen to the pounding of the night temple drums
the ever beating waiting for the morning’s rising
something subtle buried deep below the thinker
and roaming drifting high above the thought.
I listen to the answer of a thousand thousand questions,
the pulsing heartbeats in the treelines black on sky,
the words beyond the words, the blood beneath the skin
reaching, pushing, throbbing to an unseen wanting.
I listen for a question I cannot tell the answer,
the echo of the forests knows nothing of the whys
the seven seven eons have never given reasons
for the ever plodding onwards, the graceful now and never.
I listen to the reaching of a million hungry hands,
understanding nothing but that hopes will fester
walking through the legged forest, loping through the bowers,
waiting for a moment when someone new will know.