On becoming deaf

by Rita Daughton (Associate)

Once I heard,
spiders’ silk spun out,
drift of dust, rain’s rage,
wind’s wild whisper and the tranquil
glide of snails.

Now I hear, only
the singing cities of my mind,
hopeful cries lost in the abyss,
echoes of laughter, secrets, lies,
and the vast internal
marking time into eternity.

Return to poem list