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I draw breath between swells,
the rise and fall of the city sea
in the rhythm of a metronome.
Rivers of traffic, roar of trucks,
moments of quiet between beats—
the iron symphony of the machine.
Garden buddhas, soft spring rain,
crows atop green-leafed trees.
Earth alive and undefeated,
pushing through the city’s crust.
Inviting me to share Her breath,
Her living heart,
and beneath the scrim
of road and building,
Her full determined joy.
Reading of “Beneath the Scrim” with music by Owen James.
Beautiful, Don. Thank you.
Earth breathing, thriving under it all—prescient evocation, Don…
As always, your poem is a song when you speak/sing it into the void on the moment. Thank you dear poet.
“…the iron symphony of the machine.”
That’s nice, Don. 🙂
Don — Beneath the scrim, we find respite. Thank you for your beautiful poem.