I cannot hear the sound
from the hummingbirds’ wings,
as they join at the feeder,
nor the conversation between
the leaves on the sycamore
across the road,
beyond and over the fence
we planted in our backyard.
I can, however, use binoculars
to spy the hikers on the mountains
to the east, made visible now
by the recent rains,
the downpours which eliminated
the car dust from the sky.
Light has returned, and tomorrow
it will multiply itself
like it means it.
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