.

Listen. Can you hear me speaking?
Speaking these words softly, into your ear?
I want you close your eyes and listen.
To hear my words. Feel them. Make them real.

A street bench. Wooden, worn, occupied
By two men, walking sticks propped on legs and hands.
They gabble. Pidgeons cluck at their feet.
A man plays the saxophone on the street corner.

You become warm, hear muttering and shouts,
Hoots, groans, grunts. Fast twittering of market traders
Calling their spices. Bells speak. Warbles whisper
Secrets of faith and futures.

Plainsong, heard from far through an open window.
Chanting voices, latin.
The smells of rosemary and roses.
The click of clippers and shuffle of falling flowers.

Now, you hear the sounds of silence.
I think you understand.
I have nothing more to say.