On Listening

(Lavender Healing)

Do a lover’s lips, made wet by my kiss of morning’s wake

Speak less the truth because my mouth has thus entwined?

Do thine eyes that gaze the sun’s rays strewn, from navel to thy nape

Close on knowledge of veracity, in lustrous wonder blind?

Perhaps it is the smell of lavender,

Lingering in the late June breeze

Conjuring memories of days gone by,

When all the world seemed at peace.

Yet these hands hold you now! In this time and in this place.

I fumble for which path to walk, as these questions bear no refrain?

“Rest, my child, and be still,” a voice reaches across time and space,

And I finally wholly listened, as therein lies the cure to pain.

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