But God himself comes often and stays long,
when the castrati’s singing disturbs Him.
– Ranier Maria Rilke (“The Voices”)
Within the quietude of dawn
streaked in yellow flame
between charred black shadows
when the sun peeks low beneath
the branches shedding leaves,
I hear voices in the canyon,
from the ridges and the draws,
of the generations gathered
where women left their track
ground in stone, and men
built barns and fences,
some yet leaning into time
unknown, for a different breed
of cattle and of dreams—
a chorus clear and strong.
And all the working hands
that left no mark upon the land
they still inhabit singing
harmony and peace
within the quietude of dawn
streaked in yellow flame.
