Passing In The Night

Wandering minstrels moved through
Mountains on a moonless night
Filing slowly in single file,
Notes snagged on tree limbs,
Sounding echoes off the stars
While they bend ears earthward,
Hungry for wayward tunes in search
Of the sky, moments speaking of movement,
Telepathy’s outer shell

Cloaked in robes that flow from whispers,
Barefoot muffins pad the woods,
Walking silent hours of muffled
Leave droppings as turtles tilt their head,
Catching the magic silent drift
Passing in the wake

Voices are low, rumbled growls
From the belly where grand bags
Pump air strained through blood

Fingers massage chords,
Cat gut shaking mildew loose
From rabbit holes draped in lace

Wind seared flutes,
Rendering the night eye soaked,
Sucking for smiles

Memories left in bark,
Etched deep in worn brows
Carved by sound,
Remembering petals as
They fall magically upward,
Into the undertow
Of the path

by Jim Rubin

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