The Listening Well

I need to tell you:
The bones remember
And the vines whisper
And the river carries more than you’ll know.

You should see the sky
And rain bullets through parched leaves
More harm than good it seems
But everything always works out in the ground.

Trust, they said, in god above
But the man who made god died long ago
And he’s not been seen much since
Though I imagine there’s something to believing.

The heart we carry is an assignment
The way we must see it through to the end
And make the most of the damage dealt
And miracles bestowed along the way.

The score won’t be known.
It’s just what we did between the nothing times
That makes us who we’ll be remembered as
And not one fig more. And not for long.

So please listen to the leaves and rain
The bones and the birds—
They know more than folks
Who talk of life as though it’s real.