Poem January 29, 2001 Issue

Listening

Annabel Keely

Now is the earth most still.
No plows break the bare and frozen ground.
No creature stirs from its earthbound burrow, tunnel, nest.
Matter is quiet. Its clamor
hushed, we hear the rising of the star, the morning light,
the seed within itself unfolding, glowing, growing.
All is quiet, and the earth most still.

Annabel Keely

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