the healing ears (not a typo either)...

poem...

the healing ears (not a typo either)

a hanging half moon night is
nagging away a blue sky day...

driving back home and stopping in on the way
a mallard stands at the store door...

mom with a butcher knife
still screams in my ears...

remembrance…

that i got way too close
to an unknown
full-swinging baseball bat...

and the many drums are healing once again...

yes please... the resonant.

-- © 2003 weaver