You clomped down
the morning stairs
and shouted into the dark
“Hey, you’re up”
hug
“What, no music”
but no
the music
my music
morning music
was shattered
but not before it found its place

Crickets and Cicadas sing songs of darkness
one to the other
to no one but themselves
they call to the owl
who calls to
the far off train
who calls back
to
the deer
gently stepping on
autumn leaves
breathing in the breeze
that stirs
gently
the wind chimes
bringing tradition to their song
they sing
the morning song
the song
that
calls gently
rhythmically
but certainly not silently
to my soul

Yes, my darlings
in the still of the darkness
I hear
and I listen
to the song