Your Clock Isn’t All That Ticks by Paul Richard


Did you notice,
the wrens, the rushes sounding dawn, sounding dusk?
You maybe just yawn, too much to pay attention to.

Did you hear the seventeen-year cicadas?
Your treat, their racket,
waiting for seventeen more.

Everywhere, everyone wants an audition, recognition,
   to hone their renditions,
   their harmony.

Listen, listen as you doze, hear ants, hear bee’s wings.
Synthesize, amplify lyrics.
Write your song.

Hear howlers howl, lynx purr,
   each all about “here I am”.

Crickets found warmth in my garage.
Turned on the light and heard them happy.

Tried but couldn’t hear the light of a lighting bug,
   yet I still listen.


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