Slings and arrows
were all I felt
in my ignorant
know-it-all youth.
I could shout at
a hot summer moon
from a ridgertop
as if it were God.
Hearing no breeze
no crickets, no answer
just the faint whisper
of far away trucks.
The tall grass bent
and crackled under my feet,
releasing the sweet aroma
of crushed ripening seeds.
The moon sailed up
to the top of it’s arc,
fell away, over the hills
that separated
me from the ocean.
I had to wait, I hadn’t
lived nearly enough
to get even a glimmer
of what matters
and what doesn’t.
I asked God in a prayer hastily
scribbled on a scrap of paper.
And it’s been answered!
Many times, if I listen
to the wind and the moon
and the far away trucks.
To the crows flying
from treetop to roof top.
to the shrieks of children
in the playground down the street.
To the soft breaths
of my beloved as she
sleeps. Before the hawks
and turkeys awaken.
And the absence
of sirens is a blessing
that I pray could be shared
with all the sleeping billions.
Because sometimes
God answers with words
and sometimes with
a powerful silence.
Shalom, salam alaykum,
Peace be with you.
Yes, you heard me,
Listen to the moon.
