Things are in and around me with the sounds of their being.
Am I listening?
Do I spend the time listening to their joy and plea?
The potted hibiscus bloomed during the February arctic blast.
Was I listening to their joy preparing for the opening ceremony?
My inner chatterbox works overtime without compensation—
Busy daily chores and still on duty during the night directing
The dream world. I toss and turn and sleepwalk.
Seeing the colorful morning sky, I hear the old saying—
Red sky in the morning, sailor’s warning.
Do I listen to the warnings, signs of war, and peace
Quieting down the incessant chatterbox and talking heads?
I shuffle between the plea of the distant unknown
Drum beat and the joy of being.
Year of the Rabbit