Listen

 

 

A poem for June, and for grieving. 

 

Listen–

some dusk to the varied thrush
keening its single long, cool note.
This is what the thrush has waited for all day:
the busy light leaving,
shadows slipping home from their exile.
For the spacious
silence that hears it, answers.
Lean ecstasy you might have thought
despair—

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Listen then to your own,
that other
loneliness that is our vast capacity.
You thought it longed for filling.
It longs to sing.

                           Donna Henderson

Author: Donna C Henderson

Donna Henderson lives on the banks of the Deschutes River in Maupin, Oregon, where she also practices psychotherapy, poetry, music, Reiki, and teaches yoga, among other things.

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