No,
we just listened to each other
To
connect our souls; practice,
Perhaps,
for the times when those we loved
Would
need us
To
hear them,
To
help them attach themselves
To
us as the young buds
Attach
to the spring growth of the Sycamore trees
That
dot the way between Davis and Truckee
On
Interstate 80.
You
listened to me well
Enough
to cement the ephemeral bond
Between
us; so faint
It
is not visible
Even
in the early morning’s pure light
But
too strong to fade with the scrubbings
Of
time or distance.
So
I delight in the news
That
you’ve attached new ears
That
hear you with their tiny hearts beating
Close
to yours, capturing the two of you
Under
the kinds of nets that are made
From
that same ephemeral bond.
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