Melodies

A door popped open by a rogue breeze
whispers a stripe of amber light across the porch.
Did I leave that light on? Did I not pull that door shut?
But there is no one there, just the wind.

Standing in the yard, in the dark,
between the gravel drive and the victory garden,
you can hear the music and the melodies
that fill the spaces between atoms
Scientists don’t hear them,
scientists are not listening
for those sounds in those places.

Kneeling in the garden. You are soil, rich and dark,
deep acres of the stuff, smelling of loam and life,
nurturing a fierce wildness barely contained in those careful rows.

I want to scoop up handfuls, digging and sifting,
until my nails are ringed with dark halos of you.