Two Music

Your voice is a slow drink,
poured easily into
my ear. It gently
lifts and falls,

now thick, now light,
not needing its other
parts for completeness, but
waits, outside, before
tumbling into me, as
autumn does, when strength is
used and needed.

I feel it as a wind
which catches the edge of
a seashell, that fills and
refills this

shell constantly, setting
the entirety to
warm vibrating. I breathe
deep and listen—shell, voice,
ear—and in that distinct
low hum I hear the world,
part and whole.

Breathing deep and hearing
the world vibrate
with, and me:
within me.