The Singer

   

    The singer on the hill
    Again is singing, sending
    Her bird-like trills through
    The horizon, her song, the
    little truths – he with
    An ear will hear
    And bask in their

    Dazzling explications --
    Walking, speaking softly
    Muttering about their
    Delineations – what we once
    Knew.  I drew near and
    Listened and heard her
    Singing as a young girl --

    A voice beyond her years,
    Our eyes rolled back
    Till I saw the words
    Deep down, first hearing
    Her sing so long ago
    My mind struggles
    To restore its beauty.