The sound of stones in a running brook
Shape the trees as they dream of flight
To flee the pounding of tympani and fire at their feet.
And except to those
Who hear the murmuring of the flower,
The fledging of the leaf,
And the lament of the enflamed at summer’s end,
The drumming beneath us all is imperceptible
That shapes the sound of stones as we sleep.

— March 14, 2026 —
Canandaigua, New York