by Ralph La Rosa

At dawn they bow and sway, then stretch ecstatically
to kiss the sky and soil in daily dithyramb

and strophic dance, approaching closer to their god,
who waits to hear himself in those ordained to sing

the sounds they have absorbed from midday bees and birds
and soughing breeze at sunset, by spells becoming one

with him—till darkness falls and silences their songs.



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