strums the void with sound,
but has not found peace to still
the old voices that taunt her
when the curtains are closed.
A man lifts his beautiful heart -
though his voice is lost
in the microphone, his spirit offers
an uncaged bird
and so he sings what we cannot hear,
with our ears alone.
There are people carried on the swell of chairs
as they search for the anchor.
There is belief, a variety
that pulses for union,
for answers of the greater kind,
for an answer of any kind.
Follow him then on the sidewalk
and look him in the eyes.
Provide a place of movement
or a seat on the voyage of doldrums.
We will fan our faces
in salt-tasting air
and swim where water fathoms deep
looks but a breath away.
Photography - David Doubilet