Ears

Like heffalumps and woozles, (1)
Like a Rodin or a Picasso,
Souls afire with star dust,
Yet jesting in the side-show,
Half life.

The spirit of the dead poets,
Like oxygen flows in our veins,
Their words rooted in millennia,
Yet lost like runaway trains,
Half formed.

And the deepest sacral moments,
With a "thou" I wish to share,
And to gather the holy other,
Heart bonds to heart in prayer,
Half seen.

How be the organs of listening,
Have no root in heart nor soul?
And the words of love and pain,
Are like dust upon the scroll?
Halftone.

As the richness of all meaning,
Like pixels blowing in a breeze,
Never congeal the I and thou,
Poema unheard from bended knees,
Wandering lost,

Without ears to hear.
__

1) This reference to a cartoon may seem trite here...except that I wanted to convey not only the high artistry of we as creatures of words, but also the fantastic nature of we as creatures. I may change it if it falls flat (with the 3-4 readers who may peek at this stuff anyhow).