IN OUR PATH
it's simply lying there
on the flat vastness of the salt plains
that we walk.
we do not pass it by
with eyes encrusted,
forgetting how to see,
we'll pause, our arms outstretched,
knowing what lies there
waiting in our salt.
we even ever, ever thought
to find it there, alone, in all the dry,
so out of place.
is there a place where sudden music
waits a moving hand
to vibrate long-stilled strings?
some better spot than this
for melody to pause and rest,
hoping for a coming, vibrant touch?
have we some need preeminent
to steer us in some salted path,
leaving this unseen, all unaware?
arms lifted high, raising inner hymns
that our eyes have seen,
our fingers soon will touch,
and we shall find a meldedness complete
when the ways of waiting song
dissolve our dustedness to light.
Jo Anzalone 6-28-2009
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