in the hollow of its time,
the perfect silence, opening
to give it space, to let it ring
Every voice that waits to sing
into the perfect listening,
the heart that hears, and tucks the song
where it can echo, sweet and long
All sounds, received, so find their rest,
a still point of their own,
the consummation of their quest,
the hum in which they're known.
©Wendy Mulhern
November 21, 2022
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