Thinking it over

Now that I lay all my
whispers to the wind,
who is sitting
on the other end?
Who, cross-legged, facing
the whirring sun, gasping,
with eyes closed is leaning in?

Will the Listener hear me,
and my morpheme blips?
Will they translate,
bring meaning to the
Listener’s song?

Is He or She whistling
along?

What if so soft spoken
words resonate,
rotate, and join us
in a bond?
What if my vocal touch
left an imprint?

When then will a
though spark,
a slow bounce
of the ebbing winds?
When can I lose
my loneliness?
When do I halt my
outstretching hand?

How gentle should I
lean in now in the
currents of air warming
under the whirring sun?
How long shall I close
my tearing eyes, my
dry lips, my reeling mind?

How long shall I wait
with my legs crossed
until the Listener
whispers in the wind?

(c) Casteleijn MG. 2017

The image is the “中文: 靜聽松風圖” (Quietly Listening to Soughing Pines) by Ma Lin
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