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| Photo courtesy of Pixabay. In the public domain. |
One Day
One day,
before the earth grew old
and
mostly bald and full of stink,
one day
I woke to music, to a chirrup
in the
trees that rose and fell
like
exhalations of the earth itself―
a
gargling of the morning air
in
bright polyphony, in crisp staccato.
And I
knew the birds were prophesying―
knew I
heard the voice of God,
sweeter
than the earth itself,
rising
like a counterpoint, an arching,
aching
tremolo―
heard
the wild of Him that we have tamed
come
bursting forth in feathers
and
arpeggios and yearnings inexpressible,
too
large and small for syllables that slip
into our
narrow ears;
and so I
stood and listened to the world
as He
described it, listened to the reveling,
and knew
that I was born for this―knew
that
doves, that sparrows sing epiphany
at dawn
each day, and breathe
the
earth’s core in and out, and feather
all that
breathes and flies and sings,
and I
must sing, must sing, must sing,
and this
is my arpeggio, my only syllable.
Amen.
© Judith Deem Dupree 2017
